The Curse of Bodie
by Marla Fair
Summary: In 2269 an archaeologist digging in the ruins of the Bodie mine on Earth discovers skeletal remains dating to 1876. On the wrist of the dead man, who is wearing a green jacket, is an alien device. Its discovery sends the crew of the Enterprise into the past to Ben Cartwright's Ponderosa where the eddies of time and an alien menace are moving together to doom Ben's youngest son.
1. Chapter 1

The Curse of Bodie

PROLOGUE - 1964

The lone figure of a man occupied the middle of a dusty thoroughfare. A tempest was upon him, both inward and outward. The wind howled, keening like a banshee as his mind whirled, calculating, dismissing, assessing, deciding. The strong breeze worked at displacing the hat firmly anchored on his head and lifted the edges of the long dark coat he wore, giving it life and flight, making it look more like the membrane-thin wings of a bat than any kind of cloth. As he stood there the appropriately named tumbleweeds tumbled by, making much better progress than the curious stranger did. He fought a sigh, for a sigh was a dangerous thing. It gave a man hope and snatched it away just as quickly. The man in black closed his eyes and fought to focus his thoughts, seeking to link ideas with a commonality.

Hope. It was a foreign thing to him, dismissed as easily as pain and love and...guilt.

Guilt.

No good could come of guilt. He'd told someone that not long ago. It stripped a man of action, of the ability to think clearly; of the capacity to think of anything other than an action or choice that had been made and could not be _un_ made.

His near-black eyes flew open.

Forgotten. What had he forgotten?

Jim.

Joe.

The stranger turned to face the row of empty buildings before him. The land they occupied was dry as the bones of the old ones and the storm that had come upon it so unexpectedly sucked out what little life it had left; chewing it up and spitting it out with no more regard than the tons of rock that had pounded down uncaring, sealing the fate of the man he sought to save. No, the man he had saved.

 _Had_ he saved him?

No.

Removing his hat, the lean man lifted his face to the sky and allowed the wind to play through his chin-length martial-straight raven-black hair briefly before replacing it, relishing the one hundred plus degrees of heat that beat down on his head, comforting him as surely as the fires of home. Looking at the sky, he thought of the ship that should be sailing there, and of the man who belonged in the captain's chair.

Was he the one he sought here in this time? Was it Jim?

Or was it Joe?

Either way, it was imperative he reach him.

"Mister?"

The voice startled him. He felt shame at that.

Then he felt shame at feeling.

"Yes?"

"Can I help you? You look kind of lost."

The man's near-black eyes narrowed as they locked on the newcomer. It took a moment but he recognized him as some sort of lawman and pronounced him harmless. "I _am_ in need of some assistance," he admitted.

"Are you one of the reenactors here for the pageant?" the ranger asked. "If you are, that's a great costume."

The man looked at the black garb that covered him. "This is my current attire."

The lawman nodded...slowly. "Okay. Well maybe you're looking for the tourist office then? If you are," he said, pointing, 'it's over there." He looked at his wristwatch. "You've got about fifteen minutes before it closes."

While he was not prone to prevarication, it would be easier to accept the young man's scenario than to contest it.

"Thank you. I will endeavor to make it there before that happens."

"We've got a ghost walk later tonight, if you're interested. It goes down in the old Bodie mine. We'll meet at the saloon over there at midnight."

The Bodie Mine...Bodie. He had been there hadn't he?

Or was he yet to arrive?

"Perhaps another day," he said at last. "I have someone I have to...meet."

The man raised a hand to shield his eyes and looked at him askance. "You aren't thinking of taking off into the desert are you? The sun will be down in an hour. It's dangerous out there no matter what, but deadly at night." He glanced toward the sky. "Let alone with this storm blowing up."

 _More dangerous that you know_ , the man thought to himself. "It is not my intention to cross the desert," he replied, knowing full well he could have and would have had no difficulty surviving the journey. His training as a boy assured him of that.

"You looking for a hotel then? I imagine there's a room available at the Bodie Victorian. We're on our off-season now, since it's so hot." The young man grinned. "You look like a weather-beaten gunslinger, you should like it there."

The man told the truth. He most certainly did look like a desperado. He was attired from head to foot in black and wore a black hat pulled low over his ears and eyes. His coat was what was known as a duster, chosen to conceal some of the weapons he carried beneath it as well as to lend bulk to his bone-thin frame thereby rendering him slightly more intimidating. On his hip there was a sling that contained a Colt revolver he had no intention of using.

"Thank you. If you would..."

At first the lawman looked confused. Then, "Oh! Right, the hotel. It's down this street at the end. Can't miss it. 281 Main Street."

He inclined his head. "Thank you."

"You're welcome!" the man said with a smile.

The stranger blinked, confused. "One more thing, if I may?"

"Sure."

"Where am I?"

The other man eyed him. "You sure you haven't been in the sun too long?"

He nodded.

"I just told you. You're in Bodie."

"Ah, yes. I need to be in... I need to find the Ponderosa. Can you direct me there?"

The lawman grinned. "You an extra?"

"An 'extra' what?" he inquired, one black eyebrow cocked.

"On the show."

Again, it was easier to acquiesce. "Yes."

"The word's out their filming at Lake Tahoe day after tomorrow. That where you're headed?"

Once again he nodded.

"I'll tell you what, go to the station at the edge of town, the one on the southern side. The man behind the counter can direct you. He does some stunt work from time to time."

"How far is it?"

"It's about two and a half hours north of here," he laughed. "Maybe more if the wagons are running slow." The lawman was still watching him, as if attempting to discern whether or not he was in his right mind.

A discernment he would welcome knowledge of as well.

"You're gonna spend the night here. Right?"

Absentmindedly, he nodded.

The lawman opened his mouth to question him again, but a hail from across the street drew his attention. He returned it with a wave. "That's Bill. We're prepping for the ghost walk. I gotta go. You're sure you're okay?"

"I am...well."

Seemingly satisfied, the young man tipped his hat and jogged across the street to join his coworker, tossing a 'Take care of yourself. Hope to see you again!'off as he went.

It was doubtful.

Lieutenant Commander Spock, late of the Starship Enterprise, hesitated, waiting for his path to clear before moving on. The two men were standing, talking to another pale young man with pale blond or white hair. He appeared to be asking directions and the answers had him looking his way. Pulling his hat over his eyes, Spock melted into the shadows cast by one of the empty buildings. Leaning against it, he paused to gather his strength.

This was the last leg of a long journey that had taken him from the twenty-third century to the nineteenth and, now, to the twentieth. He had failed in every time and every level. But he would not fail here. He would rescue the young man upon whom the fate of worlds depended and return the time stream to its proper order. And in doing so, he would – he _must_ – find his friend.

Even if it meant he would never return home again.

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PART ONE

1864

2269

ONE

Joe Cartwright shed his green jacket, flinging it over the back of one of the big red chairs, and hung his tan hat on the rack by the door. Removing his gun belt, he placed it along with his pearl-handled pistol on the sideboard and then crossed to the large bowl of fruit that served as both parlor decoration and snack and grabbed a big, red, juicy-looking apple. He took a bite, savored the sweet sensation, and then dropped onto the striped settee in the great room and anchored his boots on the table.

Life was good and he was tired.

It was October and the year was winding down. There was an awful lot to do to get ready to weather it. This year it seemed Pa had decided, since the Ponderosa was nearly as old as he was, it was time to shore up the house and outbuildings and make sure they were as air tight as they could be. Apparently while _he_ was considered 'young' at twenty-two, the buildings at an age somewhere over that were as old and decrepit as a man over eighty. At least you would have thought so from all of the stripping, chinking, hammering, and painting going on. Adam had got a burr up his saddle to make a few changes since they were at it and Pa had agreed, all of which meant he had spent the day hauling and lifting boards, carting paint cans and buckets of nails, and wielding a paint brush like a big fat unwieldy épée. When he'd danced a little épée 'jig' to keep himself warm, big brother Adam had rolled his eyes, called him an 'idiot', and then joined in before going back to his plans.

Joe took another bite and chewed on it as he chewed on that image of Adam. There was something 'up' with big brother. He wasn't sure what it was. Adam was his usual cool, collected self, but he seemed, well, distracted. Of course, _he'd_ be distracted too with all those facts and figures and measurements swimming around in his head. Big brother was always dreaming – dreaming of what he could tear down or build up, of where he could go and what he might see. Sometimes it bothered him because it seemed Adam wasn't happy. He wanted him to be happy.

But he sure didn't want big brother to leave.

Joe shifted so he was more comfortable and took another bite of the apple. He'd talked it over with Hoss on the way back to the ranch and middle brother had agreed that something was up. Adam was _sneaky_ , he said. Sneaky like a fox. You never knew what he was thinking until he _let_ you know. Joe turned and looked toward the door. Hoss had headed to the barn to check on one of the horses that had chewed its leg up on a barbed-wired fence the day before. He should be back any minute. Adam was due back too. In fact, so was Pa. It was almost suppertime and Hop Sing would be hopping mad if any or all of them failed to show. Joe drew in a breath of the aromas floating on the air from out of the kitchen. There was beef, and onions too, and maybe a hint of yams with sugar on them. Coffee was brewing and he thought – yes – there was apple pie. One thing about winter coming was they could always count on a good, hot, stick-to-your-ribs, fill-you-up-from-top-to-toe meal.

As if on cue, their Chinese cook appeared at the end of the dining table. Hop Sing was wearing a soiled apron and an exasperated expression.

"Where your family, Little Joe?"

Lifting his feet from the table, the man with the curly brown hair sat up. "Keepin' late hours it seems," he said with a half-grin.

"Why Mister Ben and Mister Adam want to tear up house and barns? House and barns fine as they are!"

"I'm with you, Hop Sing," Joe said as he rose and walked to the door. Opening it, he tossed the apple core outside. "If it ain't broke, don't –"

"Joseph!"

Joe looked out the door and then swallowed hard as Ben Cartwright, king of the Ponderosa, timber baron and owner of half the state of Nevada, stepped in the door wiping apple mush off his face.

He winced. "Sorry, Pa."

"Mister Ben no need eat raw apple," Hop Sing groused. "Have cooked pie in stove!"

Joe looked at his father. The older man was not amused.

Twisting his face and raising his eyebrows, Joe tried to change the subject. "Where's Adam? Ain't he with you?"

"No, he _isn't_." His father drew a deep breath and shook his head. "Sometimes Joseph I think you were raised in a barn!"

"That's probably why it needs so many repairs. The kid bucks at everything like a bronco that won't be tamed," his oldest brother said, startling them both as he stepped in the door and anchored his hat on the rack. "Sorry, Pa," Adam said with a grin. "Must be the black clothes. I was right behind you."

Joe didn't know whether to be insulted or not. He opened his mouth to make a comeback, but couldn't think of anything to say.

"You better shut that mouth of your'n, little brother," Hoss said as he too entered. "Next thing you know, you'll be catchin' flies."

"Only flies in ranch house on Hop Sing's pie!" the Chinese man shouted. "Cartwrights sit down and eat soon or Hop Sing give it all to bugs!"

"Hold on there, Hop Sing," Hoss countered, halting the cook in his tracks. "I done just got here. It was the smell of that apple pie that drew me in like a pig with a ring through its nose. I could smell it all the way out there in the barn."

His father had deposited his coat on the back of the settee and accepted a napkin from Hop Sing with which he wiped his face clean. Joe squirmed beneath his pa's firm stare and then watched as it slid from him to the hearth and the wood box beside it.

"Did you remember to bring in the wood, Joseph, before you sat down to partake of your apple?" he asked.

He thought about it, screwing up his face like his pa had just asked him to do a six figure sum.

"Joseph?" The older man waited five seconds. "I take that as a 'no'?"

He hung his head. "Sorry, Pa."

"You want us all to treat you like you are a responsible adult, don't you? Well, that would mean taking responsibility, now wouldn't it?"

Joe took a step back. The thunder was rumbling, just like his stomach. The storm was gonna break any minute. "Yes...sir."

His father's arm shot out like Zeus aiming a thunderbolt. "You march outside, young man, and you bring in that wood. _Then_ , you can eat!"

Adam was standing with his arms crossed, a self-satisfied almost feline smile twisting his lips up at both ends.

Hoss was looking at his toes.

"Yes, sir." He said it, but didn't move.

" _Now_ , Joseph!"

He almost saluted. "Yes, sir!" And with that, the brown-haired man caught his coat from the chair beside the settee, tossed it on, and headed out the door.

Once outside Joe let out a long sigh. No matter what he did, it was always wrong and it always marked him as a green-horn kid who still needed his father and brothers to wipe snot from his nose and keep his nether region clean. Gathering in air and letting it out in another mightysigh, he headed for the wood pile only to discover that there _wasn't_ a wood pile.

He was going to have to chop it.

With one last longing sniff of the meal that was lost to him, Joe headed toward the barn and the pile of short logs laying beside it. He'd have to split them before he could take the wood inside. It was going to take a long time. He could only hope Hoss left _something_ for him to eat.

Though he knew it was a _vain_ hope at best.

With a sigh Joe bent to retrieve one of the logs but stopped when he heard a noise he couldn't quite identify. It was almost musical and came from within the barn. Leaving the wood behind, he moved to the door and opened it and peered inside. At first he couldn't see anything other than their mounts which had been housed for the night along with the wounded horse. Then he noticed a vague sort of light toward the back – almost like a star had come to visit and moved on leaving a trail of silver dust in its wake. He walked over to the area that contained a table and tall cupboard and reached out for the light just as it vanished – twinkling and then disappearing like that same starlight dragged down and sunk in a black sea of sky.

In its wake, it left a man.

Joe stumbled back, surprised, and – he hated to admit it – _terrified_.

"Who...who...are _you?"_ he asked as the man turned to face him. He was of moderate height and age. One, maybe two inches taller than him. With a lean build and a head of grizzled hair. He was dressed in a black suit and stared at him with just about as much surprise as he'd shown a minute before.

"Who are you?" Joe demanded this time. "Where'd you come from?"

The man took a step toward him. "I'm sorry, son."

Joe blinked. "Sorry about what?"

The stranger stared at him a moment longer and then lifted his hand. Joe's went for his gun, only to remember it was laying on the sideboard in the house.

The man's cool blue eyes locked on his. "I don't mean you any harm. It's not a weapon." He paused and an amused light entered those eyes. "Well, not really."

Joe eyed the strange thing the man held in his hand. It was silver and long. In fact, it looked like the handle of a pistol with no barrel or chamber for bullets.

"What's that?" he breathed.

A second later there was a hissing sound and a cloud of vapor or smoke drifted his way. As Joe breathed it in, the world began to fade.

He felt an arm catch him around the shoulders. "Sorry, son. Though I imagine at your age a good long nap is something you'd _rather_ have than not."

He opened his mouth to say he wasn't a baby and he didn't need a nap, but just then that fading world went black.

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Doctor Leonard McCoy shook the young man gently, making certain he was unconscious. Then, opening his recalibrated medical tricorder, he ran a quick sweep to ascertain that he had not been harmed by the tranquilizer he'd released into the air. After a moment, satisfied, he rose to his feet. The next thing the doctor did was to run his hands over his own lean frame and citified Western suit in order to establish that _everything_ he owned had come through that _damned_ transporter process with him. Satisfied at last that it had, he left the boy laying on the floor and returned to the area where he had materialized and waited.

And waited.

"Come on, Jim," he breathed. "Come on, you were right behind me."

When his friend continued in absentia, McCoy crossed to the partially opened barn door and looked outside. The house he had seen in the holos was there – a large one composed of hewn wood planks with white chinking between the boards such as his ancestors would have erected in Georgia – if on a less grand scale. The owner of the ranch house was Benjamin Cartwright. He had three sons. McCoy turned and looked at the handsome young fellow spread out on the barn floor. Undoubtedly, this was one of them. Probably the youngest. Name of...Joe? Yes, Joseph Francis Cartwright, approximate age twenty-two in late eighteen-hundred and sixty-four A.D. by the old calendar. There were two other sons – Adam and Eric – both older. The Enterprise's physician frowned. Time travel was always difficult because the briefing included knowledge not only the births but the deaths of those they might encounter. This one had experienced a fairly long life for the time, living well into his sixties. His brother Eric had died young, and Adam – well – Adam Cartwright had simply vanished without a trace.

"Bones in the desert," McCoy muttered, "or buried at sea, most likely."

He'd not had any sons. Unlike Benjamin Cartwright who had lost three wives to death, his had simply left him taking their daughter along. Sometimes he wondered why he married himself to Starfleet instead of to another woman who might have given him more children. He loved children, but then again, that's _why_ he hadn't had any more. Creating them and then leaving them behind for five years at a time seemed cruel at best. The nineteenth century equivalent would have been to sail off to sea, which the elder Cartwright had done as a young man – but _before_ he had his three boys. Ben Cartwright had exchanged the wide ocean for the vast forested reaches of Nevada and had, according to all accounts, died a happy man.

Except for that missing son.

The country doctor, known best as Bones to the man he was waiting on, turned back into the barn intending to search the whole thing just in case Jim had materialized somehow before him and was laying somewhere unconscious, when he heard a noise. Well, not a noise, a voice.

"Little Joe! Hey, Little Joe! What you doin' out there?"

Bones stepped back behind the door. He glanced at the young man on the floor. There was nothing to do but leave him there. His brother knew he was in the barn. If he moved him or tried to hide him, that would prove more suspicious than just leaving him where he was. Moving quickly, McCoy ducked into the small room off the stalls and began to look for another way out.

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" _Dag-blame it_ , Little Joe! You get your skinny little hiney up to the house, you hear me? Pa's blowin' steam out his nostrils." Hoss Cartwright paused just outside the partially open barn door. " Joe! You hear me?"

He waited. When his only response was silence, the big man's irritation turned into concern. "Hey, Joe!" he said as he gripped the door and pulled it open. "You in here, little brother?"

He was there all right, laid out flat on the floor.

" _Joe!"_

The big man rushed to his brother's side and knelt beside him, anchoring his knees in the fetid straw and dirt Joe was eating. He hesitated a moment and then placed a hand on his brother's back, checking for a heartbeat.

It was strong.

Joe stirred slightly at his touch. He didn't say anything, but he moaned.

Sitting and slipping in beside him, Hoss cradled his brother's curly head in his lap and placed a hand on his forehead.

"Hey, boy. You hear me?" he asked softly.

Joe moaned again. His eyeballs rolled behind the lids and those eyelashes he had, so long and black a girl would 'a wished for them, fluttered.

"Hoss..."

"What happened to you, little brother?"

Joe licked his lips and struggled. It was like he was swimming up out of some dark sea. "Man," he said, "in...the barn."

 _Damn!_ He'd been so plumb worried about Joe he hadn't thought to check.

Hoss' eyes roamed the barn's interior. There wasn't nothin' to see but their horses – and that little pony he'd been workin' on. The pony was snortin' and stampin' his feet.

Kinda nervouslike.

Torn between what had happened to his brother and what might happen next, Hoss was never so happy to hear his father's irate bellow sound as he was at that moment.

"Joe! Hoss! What are you two doing in there? Playing checkers?"

"Pa!" he answered back, curbin' the worry in his tone. "Pa, it's Joe. He's been hurt!"

Their father barreled in the door a second later, his eyes wide and wild as he searched for them. There was nothing like their pa. He was like a mean old she-bear and a pappy bear all rolled into one when it came to his cubs.

"What happened?" the older man asked as he dropped to the barn floor beside him.

"I sure as shootin' don't know, Pa. I opened the door and found him here –" Hoss stopped. Joe was clawin' at their pa's arm.

He watched as his father caught his brother's hand and squeezed it. "What is it, Joe?" he asked.

"Man... Pa... There was...a man." Joe drew in air like someone just breaking the surface. "Looked like...a...city slicker."

Their father's eyes moved to him. "You see anything, Hoss?"

"No, sir." He nodded toward the wounded animal. "But the pony's skittish."

Rising to his feet, the older man drew his gun and turned in a slow circle before shouting, "All right. Whoever you are, wherever you're hiding, come out! Come out _now!"_

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Leonard McCoy swallowed over the lump in his throat and pulled at the black ribbon wound around his high-stand collar. He had a phaser on him, but was forbidden by regulations to draw it. It had been against Jim's orders to bring it along at all, but his motto had always been 'better safe than sorry'. The doctor was sure security wouldn't check his medical kit before the transporter room blasted his atoms into oblivion and reformed them in nineteenth century Nevada and he'd been right.

His hand reached for the weapon now. He knew what a bullet from a handgun could to do to a man. In a way, the damage was worse than what a phaser would do as the metal missile tore through flesh and bone, ripping and wrecking havoc along the way. Infection was the main concern in early American medicine, infection and controlling it. There were few treatments available. Most were native plants, some of which were efficacious and others, useless. Fortunately, he had brought along the hypo-spray and a plethora of medicines – once again, against regulations.

A slow smile curled Bone's lips as he watched the three Cartwright men through a crack in the barn wall. Maybe he _did_ belong in the Wild West. It seemed he had a stubborn streak and a penchant for independence that bordered on the insubordinate.

"I'm a doctor, not a soldier," he growled.

"I said, come out now!" Ben Cartwright pronounced from the other side of the wall.

McCoy had explored the portion of the barn he was in, which seemed to be some sort of an office. There was a door to the back of it that emptied into another portion of the barn. The problem was, it was locked. He'd rummaged briefly for a key, but had failed to find one, and now it looked like – if he didn't go – he was sure to be caught and questioned. Weighing the trouble using the phaser might cause against what the discovery of a twenty-third century man in a nineteenth century barn might do to the timeline, he decided the phaser was the lesser of two evils. With his eye to the Cartwrights Bones slipped the weapon out of his pouch, set it on a tight beam, and sliced right through the padlock. Careful not to burn himself, he knocked the remnants off with his elbow and slipped into the darkened corridor beyond, quickly making his way to the door at the other end which, fortunately, was _not_ locked. As he stepped out and under the star-flecked sky, Bones sighed, satisfied that he had managed to guard not only their mission but the integrity of the past.

That was until he heard the distinctive _click_ of a gun's hammer being cocked.

Raising his hands into the air, McCoy turned toward the man who held it.

" _Adam_ Cartwright, I presume?"


	2. Chapter 2

TWO

James T. Kirk came to a hard stop against the bole of a particularly knotty pine tree, the breath knocked out of him. He rested on his hands and knees for a moment and then forced himself to his feet. One minute he had been standing on the transporter platform of the Enterprise and the next – instead of materializing in the Cartwright's barn alongside Bones where he was supposed to be – he found himself suspended in mid-air and then, plummeting to the ground. Landing with an 'oomph' on a patch of rocky soil, he had rolled down the side of a steep hill until that pine tree reached out and slapped him hard, halting his descent.

Probably saving his life.

Anchoring his hands on his hips, the captain of the Enterprise took a moment to catch his breath and then looked down, noting that the hill continued on for another hundred or so feet until it bottomed out in a pile of rocks bordered by a meandering stream. He _might_ have survived the fall, but he was glad he didn't have to test that particular theory. Glancing about Kirk looked for any sign of local inhabitants. Seeing none he opened his communicator, aimed the signal at the invisible starship that floated above, and spoke into it.

"Mister Scott, are you there? Scotty?"

"Aye, sir," came the almost immediate reply. "I hope your trip was a bonny one."

The blond man scowled at the bracken covered rocky ground beneath his feet.

 _Brutal_ , more like.

"Not exactly, Scotty. I'm..." Jim glanced about. "I'm on the side of a steep hill...somewhere. Bones is nowhere in sight."

"You mean you're not at the Ponderosa?"

How did he answer that? The 'Ponderosa' was the name collectively given to Benjamin Cartwright's vast holdings in Nevada. According to the records of the time, its approximate size was a thousand square miles or six hundred thousand acres. So, technically he was _on_ the Ponderosa even though he wasn't _at_ it.

"Let's put it this way, Scotty. I'm not at the ranch house."

"Well, it wasn't me wee bairns whot caused the trouble, Captain, you can be sure of that!" the engineer said, his Scottish accent growing even as his indignation rose. "Now, you or Doctor McCoy didn't fiddle with the coordinates, did ye?"

Kirk suppressed a sigh. No matter _what_ , Mister Scott's beloved machines _couldn't_ be at fault. "Neither the doctor or I had anything to do with setting the coordinates, Scotty. I left that to Kyle." He didn't add, but thought, 'After all, that's _his_ job.'

"Just a moment, Captain..."

The channel went dead.

Kirk waited a minute and then began to twist and turn the knobs on the communicator. "Scotty? What's wrong?" He drew a breath and held it. There were in the nineteenth century, for God's sake! What could be happening on the Enterprise? _"Scotty!"_

The communicator chirped back to life several seconds later. "Sorry, sir. I wanted to check in with Kyle. I had the lad take a look at the log and he says there _was_ a wee variance in the transporter signal at the moment you beamed down." The engineer paused. "Still, as it didn't affect the coordinates, it should have had nae effect. It makes noo sense that you and Doctor McCoy ended up in different places."

Kirk chewed that over for a moment. He hesitated and then asked, "Is there anyone else within earshot, Mister Scott?"

"Tis the night watch, Captain. Just Uhura, Sulu, and me."

Good. What he had to say wouldn't be influenced by the presence of his senior officers. "Is this a secured channel?"

"Absolutely, Captain, as per your orders."

It was a ridiculous precaution considering the era he had landed in. Still... "Is there any word on Mister Spock's location yet?"

He sensed more than heard Montgomery Scott's sigh. "Nae, sir. Not a bleep or blink."

Kirk frowned. "You haven't found a signature for the artifact either?"

"Strange as may be, Captain, nae, I have not. But then we know very little of its properties. It's possible the wee thing only gives off a signal when in use."

It was agood thing they were not on Earth anymore. The professor who had discovered the missing artifact – Campbell Beckett – had raised the temperature of the planet to Vulcan norm when he discovered what Spock had done. Campbell had immediately contacted the big brass at Starfleet and they had contacted him and...

Kirk sighed again.

It had all started about a week before when they had gone home for a short R&R on Earth before heading out into deep space to continue their five year mission. While planet-side, Spock had made the acquaintance of Professor Campbell Beckett who had told him about a recent find that had been made in California on land that had once been a state park known as the Bodie Ghost Town. Bodie had been a small mining town with no claim to fame until, due to the freak collapse of the mine, gold was found there in eighteen-seventy-six. The town boomed and busted within the space of twenty years. The empty buildings remained standing for nearly two centuries as a ghost town and tourist attraction before giving way to the advance of civilization and humanity's constant need to expand. The professor had been digging in the ruins of the original mine when he found a curious artifact that he believed might be of alien origin. He invited Spock to supper and then to his lab so the Vulcan scientist could take a look at it.

Kirk ran a hand over his chin and sighed. He should have realized something was wrong when Spock returned that night to go over their current mission plans. The tall lean Vulcan had said little. In fact – _for_ a Vulcan – he'd seemed preoccupied. When McCoy joined them several hours later with a bottle of Kentucky bourbon and three glasses in hand, Spock had declined the offer and risen from his chair. He wished them both good night before returning to his room.

The next morning both Spock and the artifact were gone.

Kirk hesitated. It felt like treason even to ask. "Did you remember to calibrate the instruments to detect any Gateway emissions?"

"Aye, sir. 'Twas nothing on the surface." Scotty paused. "But then you know Mister Spock. If he doesn't want to be found, the odds are long he won't be."

Kirk pursed his lips. "Well, we'll just have to do something to shorten those odds in our favor. Keep at it, Mister Scott. I'll check back in an hour or two if I am able. Kirk out."

The blond man replaced the communicator in the leather satchel he wore anchored over his shoulder. Somehow it had miraculously remained with him during the fall. He looked around again, scanning the forested area, his mind firing as rapidly as photon torpedoes during a surprise attack. At first he'd thought, as unlikely as it was, that Spock had simply removed the alien object from the lab to study it more closely. But then when, during the professor's tirade, Campbell had used words all too familiar to anyone who had been on the Guardian's planet, his stomach had sunk to his toes and he had felt a real rush of fear for his friend. Campbell Beckett said that Spock had mentioned a place called 'Gateway' as a possible origin for the artifact.

Gateway, the home of the Guardian of Forever – one of only two planets in the Federation that were quarantined.

Professor Beckett had heard of Gateway, of course. He was just being cagey. As an archaeologist Kirk could have expected no less. Rumors abounded about the Guardian's planet, of course, though there was little _real_ knowledge out there. He had managed to put the archaeologist off using Starfleet's standard lie...er...cover story that the living machine the planet held was a simple repository of knowledge. But he knew – _he_ knew the truth. The Guardian was not only a repository, it was _itself_ the gateway to all of time and space. No one knew much of its creators. They remained hidden in a past the Guardian refused to show. It was thought two races had occupied the planet, the ones who created the Guardian – known as the Originators – and the earlier ones who had created the planet itself.

Once they knew Spock had gone, he and Scotty had moved as quickly as possible to find the fading signature of their particular Vulcan-Human hybrid. Along with Spock's, they found another familiar pattern. It matched the one in the sealed records they carried on the Enterprise – the records of the only Federation starship to visit Gateway, and of the crew who had set foot on its surface – including him, Spock, McCoy, Uhura, and Scotty. After their mission the planet had been closed to any and all traffic. Jim closed his eyes and sighed, seeing once again a beautiful female face with large dark eyes, surrounded by a fluff of even darker brown hair. He felt again the touch of her lips on his and then watched as a speeding car struck her and took her life while he looked on unable to do anything to prevent it. They had experienced then _firsthand_ what interference with the past could do. McCoy, crazed from an overdose of cordrazine, had prevented Edith's Keeler's death and, due to her successful peace movement, America and its allies lost the Second World War. Perseverance and a lot of luck – and maybe a wag or two of God's finger – had saved them _and_ the time stream that time.

Kirk's hazel eyes opened, taking in his surroundings once again, hoping against hope for some movement that might indicate the location of his friend. What _could_ Spock have been thinking? If the Vulcan suspected the artifact came from Gateway, then why dare to take it? Could it be he was attempting to protect it, to hide it away from someone? If so, why had Spock not come to him? The blond man frowned. Professor Beckett had informed him as well that Spock had suspicions that the artifact contained random elements – _unstable_ elements. Might _those_ elements have effected Spock due to his unusual physiology?

Was he even _in_ his right mind?

A thorough investigation of Spock's quarters had given them their first clue as to where he had gone. There were notes laying on Spock's desk, written in his immaculate Vulcan hand, and they were able to tap into information he had brought up on the computer concerning the nineteenth century and the Nevada Territory. All of it pertained to a family by the name of Cartwright. He'd held a briefing with his officers to discuss their options – and to get their permission in a way – and then had given the order.

Though there would be Hell to pay later, without Starfleet's permission, he had ordered Scotty to slingshot the ship around a nearby sun and take them into the past.

Kirk's frown deepened as he dusted off the knees and the backside of his brown striped trousers and then unfastened the buttons and rolled down the sleeves of the deep blue work shirt he wore in order to stave off the growing chill. Night was coming. He really needed to move.

As he did, he considered what had happened. He knew his Vulcan friend – knew him _well_. If Spock had considered all options and decided this bold move _had_ to be made, there had to be a valid reason. He knew as well, since that move had to do with Gateway and the Guardian, that Spock would be hell-bent to take whatever chance it was by _himself_ so no one else would have to face Starfleet's fire. Well, _damn_ him! He was _just_ as determined that Spock _not_ face it alone. And so he and McCoy had kitted up and stepped onto the transporter platform and, while Bones complained yet again about his atoms being scattered from the Enterprise to eternity, he'd watched Kyle move the levers and the Enterprise disappear and then –

He'd landed here and McCoy was...well... _somewhere._

Kirk looked up. He used the rising moon to get his bearings, and then headed off in the direction he thought Ben Cartwright's spread lay.

After all, no matter what, moving was always better than standing still.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"I'm waiting."

Ben Cartwright stood beside the striped settee where his youngest lay unmoving, his brother Hoss by his side. Joe seemed to be sleeping, but there was nothing any one of them could do to rouse him. There wasn't a mark on him other than a scrape on his forehead that had probably resulted from him striking the barn floor when he fell. There was no sign of any attack, nothing to indicate violence.

He just wouldn't – or _couldn't_ wake up.

The man standing before him with his hands raised in the black city slicker suit looked to be a little younger than him. Perhaps in his mid-forties. He was well-spoken and obviously well-educated and claimed to be a doctor named Leonard McCoy. So far he hadn't let him near Joe. Before he did, he _needed_ to understand what had happened in the barn.

So far the man's answers had been vague at best.

"Er, well, yes..." McCoy cleared his throat. "You see, I was headed this way when my horse threw a shoe. I saw a light in your barn and went inside to see if I could find someone to help. I heard your son come in, but by the time I found him, he was just about out. I have no idea what happened." He started to lower his hand toward his vest. "If you'd just let me..."

"Keep 'em up," a low voice warned. "Until we tell you to put them down."

Ben looked at his son, Adam. It was Joe's gun he held in his hand. He'd found it lying beside his brother when he marched the stranger back into the barn to make him face the music and discovered Joseph had fallen unconscious.

Somehow, there was something poetic about that.

McCoy lifted his hand above his head again. "Certainly. It's just... Well...I'd like to help. I have proof in my pocket that I am a physician."

Ben gestured with a hand to his middle son. "Hoss, come here and take whatever it is he has." As his son obeyed, he demanded, "Now, tell me again just _why_ you're in the area."

"As I said, I'm looking for a missing friend. The last thing _he_ said was that he intended to head for the Ponderosa." The man looked down as Hoss reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin leather wallet. Then the stranger's blue eyes, lighter and clearer than his middle son's, returned to him. "I need to find him."

Ben took the wallet from his son and opened it. Inside there was a letter to Paul Martin from a State Hospital in Milledgeville, Georgia recommending Doctor Leonard McCoy and stating that McCoy was headed for California. The white-haired man frowned as he perused it. Milledgeville was not a regular hospital. It was an asylum for the lunatic, idiot, and epileptic.

"Is this man you are seeking an escaped patient?" Ben asked as he closed the wallet.

Leonard McCoy sighed. "I've treated him before, but more than anything else he's my friend."

"Adam," he said after a moment's thought, "lower your gun."

"Pa, we know nothing about this man," his eldest son protested. "That letter could be a forgery, or he could have taken it from someone else, or –"

"Or he _could_ be telling the truth. We'll know for certain when your brother wakes up." Ben turned to look at Joe. Worry stabbed him once more when he saw his youngest had not shifted or stirred in the slightest.

Hoss was at Joe's side again. He was brushing his brother's brown curls back from his forehead. "What do you think's wrong with him, Pa?" he asked, his eyes wide with worry.

"If I may..." the doctor from Georgia began.

Ben turned toward him. McCoy was wagging his hands over his head.

"Oh, yes. Put your hands down." He paused as his eldest challenged him. The gun was still out. Adam was too old to order, so he said only, "Son, please."

Reluctantly, Adam obeyed. Ben noticed his son kept the gun, placing it behind his belt, instead of returning it to the sideboard where Joe's holster lay.

Doctor McCoy indicated the pouch at his side. "I have some smelling salts in here. I think they might do the trick. If it's all right..."

Ben nodded slowly, still uncertain whether or not he could trust the man. When the doctor moved to Joe's side, he went with him. So did Adam. Hoss, of course, was already there.

His middle son rose from his position beside his brother as the doctor drew near in order to give him room. McCoy rested one hip on the settee beside Joe. First, he checked the boy's eyes and then took Joe's pulse. After a moment, the stranger reached into his pouch and drew out a small paper twisted at both ends. Holding it close to Joe's nose, he snapped it.

The scent of something like perfume filled the air. It didn't smell like any salts he knew.

It took a second but Joe grimaced, then he moaned, and finally, coughed.

"Well, if that don't just beat all!" Hoss exclaimed and slapped his thigh.

As if reading his mind, the stranger stood and moved out of the way, allowing Ben to drop to the settee beside his son.

"Joe. Joseph, can you hear me?"

His son's long black eyelashes fluttered. A second later the hazel-green eyes behind them appeared, dazed and confused. "Pa...?"

Ben laid his hand along Joe's cheek, like he had done when he was a little boy – but for just a second, since his youngest was no longer a boy but a man. Removing it, the white-haired man held it out and said, "Can you sit up, son?"

Joe blinked. "I think so."

Doctor McCoy turned to Adam. "I'd advise getting him some juice if you have it."

His eldest frowned. Clearly the doctor's suggestion set off some alarm. "Juice? Not brandy? Doc Martin usually gives that or coffee."

"Medical advances," the stranger said, cocking one grizzled eyebrow. "Juice is better."

"Hoss, go see if Hop Sing has any juice left from this morning," Ben ordered.

"Yes, sir."

As McCoy moved to sit beside Joe again and began to examine him, Ben signaled Adam to his side. Walking with his eldest to the door, he said, "Adam, I think you should check the barn and the surrounding yard. Make sure there's no one else here. _If_ the doctor is telling the truth, there may be someone else who attacked Joe."

Adam looked confused. "I thought you believed him. You let him treat Joe."

"I know about smelling salts. They couldn't do your brother any harm. As to Doctor McCoy, I'm _inclined_ to believe him – but not entirely convinced yet. Once your brother recovers we'll see what he has to say." He caught his son's arm. "In the morning, why don't you ride into town and see if Paul has ever heard of this hospital in Georgia." He looked at the stranger who was tenderly cleaning the scrape on Joe's forehead and speaking softly to him. "Or this man."

"Sure thing, Pa." With that Adam headed out the door.

As it closed behind him, the man stood up and looked his way. "You can talk to your son now, Mister Cartwright."

Ben crossed immediately to Joe. The boy was sitting up with a blanket tucked around him that the doctor had magicked from somewhere. Leonard McCoy gave him a smile that told him he too was a father and understood his need as he shifted out of the way.

"How are you son?" Ben asked as he sat down.

"I'm fine, Pa," Joe said in that way he had when he was determined to deny any weakness. "You don't need to fuss."

"I'm not fussing, Joe, just doing what fathers do." He touched his son's forehead near the scrape. "Do you remember how you got this?"

"When I fell, I think." Joe frowned. "I'm not really sure. I can't remember..."

Ben glanced up at the stranger. "Do you remember meeting Doctor McCoy?"

Joe looked to where the doctor was standing. He frowned again, thinking hard. Finally he shook his head. "Nope."

That agreed with the doctor's story. "Did you see anyone else?"

Again, he thought. "I don't think so. I was chopping wood and heard a noise in the barn. I remember going in, but that's it."

Ben had a sudden thought. He looked at McCoy. "Could this man you're searching for have – "

The doctor shook his head. "He's not violent. Just...lost."

"Maybe I just tripped, Pa. Fell and hit my head." Joe hesitated and then smiled that self-effacing smile he had. "I was pretty riled about chopping that wood and wasn't watching where I was going."

"Here you go, little brother," Hoss announced as he came into the room with juice in hand and Hop Sing in tow.

"Mistah Joe okay?" the Chinese man asked, clearly concerned. "Not scramble brains like eggs?"

As Joe laughed, Hoss replied, "You know'd Joe since he was a baby, Hop Sing. Ain't _nobody_ got a harder head than baby brother here."

Ben smiled at the banter, grateful to see the color returning to his youngest son's face. "Hoss, help your brother upstairs."

That youngest scowled. "Pa, I'm fine. I don't need to lie down."

The white-haired man looked at Leonard McCoy who was standing to the side, listening to their exchange. "What do you think, _Doctor?"_

The stranger jumped a bit, as if his mind had been very far away. His eyes went to Joe. With a smile, he said, "Rest wouldn't hurt, young man."

"Ah, Doc..."

"You heard him, son." Ben's gaze went to Hoss. The concern his middle boy felt for his baby brother but was masking, shone out of his son's eyes. "Hoss, take your brother to his bed and make sure he stays there."

Before Hoss could reach him, Joe tossed off the blanket and stood – too quickly. As gracefully as he could, which was none to, his youngest caught the edge of the settee to balance himself. From how green he looked it appeared the world was swimming around him and he was about to pass out, but bound and determined as Joseph was, the older man knew there was no point in trying to help. Joe would have to come to that conclusion by himself. Resolute, Joe took the first few steps. Hoss caught him before he could fall and, supporting his brother by one arm, maneuvered him muttering protests up the stairs and toward his room.

"He'll be fine," McCoy said softly a second after they'd reached the top. "I'm thinking Joe struck his head as he fell. There are no signs of concussion, so a good night's sleep should set him right."

Ben turned toward the stranger. "Thank you, Doctor McCoy. I'm sorry I doubted you. It's just that –"

"No apology is necessary, Mister Cartwright." The look out of his eyes was as soft as his voice. "I have a daughter."

"Just one?"

The stranger nodded. "She lives with her mother."

The white-haired man drew a deep breath. He didn't know why, but he trusted this man. He had no reason to – the way they had met was certainly suspicious – but he sensed he was a man to whom all life was sacred.

Instinctively he knew McCoy would not have harmed Joe on purpose.

"You look tired," Ben said at last. "The least we can do is provide you with a room for the night."

"No, no. I need to move on. My friend – "

"You said he was headed here, and you can't travel by night," Ben insisted. "Why don't you get some sleep and then set out in the morning to look for him? I'll send one of the boys with you. You'll only make mistakes tonight, and the wilderness is no place for a man to do that. She's as unforgiving as she is beautiful."

The stranger said nothing for several moments. He seemed to be considering his options, weighing what he knew was best against his desire to help the man he was seeking and obviously loved. Finally, he sighed. "I guess you're right. I _am_ weary. I thank you for your hospitality – and your trust. You have no reason to extend either to a poor Georgia boy far from home."

" _Humanity_ is my reason, Doctor McCoy," Ben said.

The doctor held out his hand. As Ben took it, he said, "I feel privileged to have met you, Mister Cartwright."

"Ben."

The doctor's pale blue eyes lit with a smile. "Ben. Please, call me Leonard."

Ben looked up. Hoss was coming down the stairs. "Did you get your brother settled?"

"I hog-tied him with the sheets," Hoss said with a shake of his head. "That oughta keep him down 'til mornin' at least."

Leonard laughed. "That youngest one of yours reminds me of another friend of mine. There is no such word as 'can't'."

"You got that right," Hoss declared.

At that moment the front door opened and Adam stepped in. He tossed his hat on the sideboard as he entered the room and finally relinquished Joseph's firearm. "All clear, Pa," he said. "There's no sign of anyone other than the doctor here."

"The doctor is going to spend the night. Hoss was about to show him up to a room."

His eldest held his feelings close. Ben wasn't really sure what he thought of that. Still Adam stepped forward and extended his hand.

"Welcome to our home, Doctor McCoy," he said, his lips pursed in that certain way he had.

Ben relaxed visibly. Really, he need have no worries.

Brother Adam was on watch.


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

About twenty miles away from the Ponderosa, in Virginia City, a stunningly beautiful and young saloon girl wrapped in shimmering copper cloth sashayed across the floor carrying a tray with two drinks while humming a soft tune in her soft, husky voice. She was barely tall enough to call 'short', coming in at five feet one inch. Her curves were sharper than the hotel banister's; her corseted waist barely the span of a man's open hands, while both her bust and hips were ample. She moved with a surety that turned every head in the Bucket of Blood. Of course, that might also have been due to her picture perfect face, deep green eyes, and the mass of blue-black hair that fell to her shoulders in a wave of unruly curls. There was just something about her. It made the hard-bitten miners and the saddle-weary ranch hands rise from their seats when she passed through, scrambling for their hats to see who would be the first to tip one. When she was gone a stupefied smile lingered on their lips as if they had just been handed – _free_ – a bottle of the Bucket's finest aged Kentucky whiskey or, maybe, won an immense pot in a poker game. Her name was Medora MacNamar and even though she'd been at the Bucket for less than a week, she was pulling in tips one hundred times higher than the regulars.

Which made the other girls a mite sore.

When she reached a table situated in the far corner of the establishment, Medora deposited the tray she was carrying on its rough surface and then lifted two drinks from the battered surface. After sliding them toward the two men who occupied the table's chairs, she planted her ample rear on the arm of one and proceeded to run her hand's through that man's thick chestnut hair.

Leaning down, Medora nipped his ear, kissed it, and then said, "Abdon, is that something in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

Abdon Walls, a tall man with pale blond hair and odd glass-green eyes, did not glance up. He lifted the whiskey and sipped it. "Primitive, but acceptable for a stimulant," he said, his tone absently clinical.

"Ease up, Doc," Medora said, the words dripping from her plump lips like honey.

"You will cease to address me by that wretched appellation," he growled.

She shrugged. "When in Orion's belt, _Doc_..."

The man in the other chair stirred. "Medora's right, Abdon. Repulsive as these clothes and the altered skin we wear are, we are in need of them to accomplish the mission."

A superior sniff was his only reply.

Medora shifted then and moved to Orlo Bond's chair, casually and deliberately releasing a strong burst of pheromones as she went. Of course Orlo was no more his real name than hers was Medora, or the Doc's, Abdon. They had used the onboard computer on their Orion star freighter to generate three Wild West names. She was particularly smitten with her own and thought she might keep it once they returned to their ship.

It could only make her more mysterious.

Grinning, Medora took two fingers and reached inside and drew from her tightly corseted copper bodice, with its dripping black lace and jet beads, several folded bills amounting to nearly two hundred dollars.

"Today's take?" Orlo asked as he fingered the printed paper.

"This morning's," she snorted, and not daintily. Human males _were_ a weak and gullible lot! "It's more than enough to buy the last of the supplies."

Orlo, a rail thin man with slicked-back gray hair, dressed as a wealthy and landed Westerner in a black frock coat, gold canvas trousers with black braces, a black hat and ivory shirt, permitted a smirk to lift the corner of one of his genetically altered lips. "Then we can make our move tonight."

"What about the anomaly?" Abdon groused. "Someone else is here."

Medora watched Orlo's pale blue eyes drop to the gun-metal gray device peeking out from under the sleeve of his frock coat. They each wore one.

"Undefined and troubling, but not enough to stop the mission."

Abdon's lips quirked with an unpleasant sneer. "Captain's orders?"

Orlo pushed his chair back and started to rise. "You might say so."

His rising dislodged Medora from her perch. "My shift ends at nine," she said.

The gray-haired man nodded. "It's best we operate under cover of darkness. The target must be taken and soon, and with no intervention from the other biological units in the household. Once we have eliminated him in fulfillment of the contract, we can set about mining the silver."

"What difference does it make if he's alone?" Abdon shifted his long charcoal gray rifle frock coat back as he too rose to his full height, which was one foot taller than Medora. "Why not take them all out?"

"For one thing, it's in the contract," Orlo replied. "Curb your thirst for blood, _doctor._ You know better. A delicate incision effects the desired result."

Abdon Wells' face lit with a wicked smile.

"Just be sure I'm the one to make it."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam Cartwright had returned early from town. He'd gone to talk to Paul Martin who told him that, while he had not heard of Leonard McCoy, the name and signature on the letter were as authentic as the Georgia asylum the stranger said he came from. At that point, there was little they could do but go by that letter and the man himself. He seemed honest enough and had taken care of Joe.

After reporting what he had found to his father, he'd set about doing his little brother's chores including chopping the wood in the woodpile Joe had abandoned the night before when he went into the barn and, well, whatever happened, _happened_. Joe was fully capable of doing it – and he'd said so in a very loud, _very_ clear voice that morning at the table – but Pa as usual was being overprotective of Marie's boy and forbid it, telling him he needed to stay close to the house and rest. Joe had argued and cajoled and worked his way with Pa as _he_ usually did, and wrung from him a slow leave to travel into town instead to fetch some supplies they needed in order to begin mending the north fences the next morning. Even so, Pa had insisted he take a wagon and one of their hands with him, a new man by the name of Theron Vance who had signed on just the week before. They'd left about a half hour ago. Vance, who was about Joe's age, was an albino. He had white hair and pallid near-white skin. Theron seemed a nice enough man – and Pa was fine with him – but there was something about the newcomer that raised the hackles on the back of Adam's neck. He told himself the man's condition had nothing to do it. At least, he _hoped_ it didn't. Vance was way too quiet for one, and had a way of looking at you with his crimson eyes that reminded Adam of a banker watching someone else count out his money. He wasn't sure he would have sent Little Joe out alone with Vance this soon, but then – as the sages put it – father knows best.

Adam had just paused to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and then raised the axe again, aiming to split the next piece of firewood, when someone cleared their throat, attracting his attention. He turned to find a hardy-looking blond man of medium stature dressed in brown striped trousers and a blue work shirt watching him. He glanced behind the man and saw no horse.

His suspicions instantly raised, the black-haired man dropped the axe to his side but didn't let it go, and turned to greet him. "Can I help you, stranger?"

The man smiled – a sincere, winning smile that lit his hazel eyes. "I was about to ask you the same thing," he said.

Adam ran his sleeve over his brow as he eyed the wood pile. "You're offering to chop wood? I take it that means you've been out in the sun too long."

The stranger laughed. "Could be, or could be I'm looking for work."

The eldest of Ben Cartwright's boys weighed his initial reaction against his growing acceptance of the man. "Well," he said, anchoring the axe in the stump he used as a chopping bench, "we have more than enough of that to go around here."

The smile grew broader. "Great. I heard Ben Cartwright could always use hands and that he's a fair man."

Adam nodded. "That he is." He held out his hand. "Adam Cartwright. And you might be?"

The man took it. His handshake was as firm as the confidence that exuded from him. "Jim. Jim Kirk."

"Where do you hail from, Jim?"

"Riverside, Iowa."

He whistled. Nearly _two_ thousand miles away. "You're a long way from home, Jim. What brings you west?"

Jim was sharp. He knew he was fishing. "Nothing in particular. I guess I wanted to see the wider world." He turned in a half-circle, indicating the tall Ponderosa pines surrounding them. "There's nothing like this in Iowa."

"Nothing to hold you either? No family?"

Jim shook his head. "I had a brother, but he's gone. My father too, and my mother has her own life."

Adam's eyes strayed to the house. He couldn't imagine burying either Joe or Hoss, though he had been forced to face the possibility before. "I'm sorry. About your father and brother."

It was Jim's turn to poke. "You're a close family, aren't you? That's what everyone says."

"Everyone?"

"The people in town – and the young man and his unusual companion I crossed paths with a mile or so back who were headed _into_ the town." Jim Kirk smiled. "I take it the one with the curly brown hair was your brother?"

"How could you tell? Did Joe tell you so?"

He shook his head. "Family resemblance."

Adam's black brows peaked toward his hair. "That's something I don't hear too often."

"It's there," Kirk said, growing serious. "Around the eyes and in the set of your jaw. You're both determined men."

"If there's one thing we Cartwrights are, its determined – to take care of our own," Adam answered, half in truth and more in threat. The black-haired man wiped the sweat and dirt from his hands on his trouser legs and then indicated the house. "Let's go in and talk to Pa."

As they approached the house, the door opened and Doctor McCoy stepped out. For just a moment the doctor's step faltered and his eyes narrowed as if the presence of Jim Kirk had surprised him. Then he was on his way again.

Adam looked from one stranger to the other. There it was again, that 'pinch' of suspicion.

"I was just coming to find you, Adam," the Georgia doctor drawled.

"Well, here I am. What can I do for you?" he replied as both he and Kirk halted about ten feet from the door.

The doctor hesitated.

"Oh, this is Jim Kirk," Adam said, correcting his omission. "He's here looking for work."

McCoy inclined his head. "Mister Kirk."

Jim actually laughed. "That was my father's name. Just Jim."

The doctor returned his smile. "Jim, then." He held out his hand. "I'm Leonard." The older man's light blue eyes left the newcomer and fixed on him. "Seems your house has become a bit of a way station, doesn't it?"

Adam's answer was tight. "It's not unusual. There's nothing else around for miles."

At that moment the door to the house opened again and his father stepped out, a questioning look in his eyes. "Adam, I saw you had someone with you. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Before Adam could say anything, Jim Kirk stepped between him and the older man and offered his hand. "James T. Kirk, Mister Cartwright, and though neither your son or you are my friends – yet – those who know me call me 'Jim'." As his father shook the stranger's hand, Kirk added, "I came here looking for work."

The older man's eyes went to the yard. "Where's your horse? You didn't walk, did you?"

"Yes, sir, I did. As to where my horse is," Jim patted his belly, "a man's got to eat."

His pa's white eyebrows shot up. "You _ate_ your horse?"

Kirk laughed. "No, I sold him to buy food."

His father laughed as well. "Oh, oh...well, that's better." Adam watched as the white-haired man clapped the stranger on the shoulder and directed him toward the open door. Once they'd reached it, he turned back. Concern lit his father's dark brown eyes as he asked, "Did Joe and Vance get off all right?"

Adam nodded. "Yes, sir. Jim ran into them on his way in."

"I see." The older man turned to the stranger. "Did the boy look, well, all right?"

Jim Kirk nodded. "Seemed healthy, and happy to be heading into town. Why? Was there some trouble?"

It was Doctor McCoy who answered. "The young man suffered a fall last night and was unconscious for some time."

"This is Doctor McCoy," his father said. "Have you been introduced?"

"Unofficially," the blond man replied. "I didn't know he was a doctor."

"Thank you again, Doctor, for what you did for Joe last night," his father said. "I understand you intend to leave us tomorrow?"

McCoy nodded. "Most likely."

"Please be sure to see me before you leave." Turning back to Kirk, the older man said, "Now, young man, if you will come with me." And with that they disappeared into the house.

 _Young_ man. Kirk looked like he was in his mid-thirties. At least Pa didn't call _him_ 'boy'.

Doctor McCoy noted the smile on his lips. "Something funny?"

Adam shook his head. "Just Pa. I don't think he will ever believe any of us are old enough to pull up our own boots, let alone make all of our own decisions."

The stranger hesitated. "You sound a little...frustrated."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Adam said as he returned to the axe and the woodpile. "I couldn't have a better father. It's just...well..." He looked up at the broad expanse of sky above him. "There's more. Somehow, I _know_ there's more."

"You're discontent."

Was he? "I suppose so, though I have everything I could hope to have and more – a loving father, two brothers whom I couldn't be closer to, and an inheritance to rival any prince in Europe."

"But it's not enough."

Adam looked at the older man and grinned. "Are you a philosopher as well, Doctor McCoy?"

"Leonard, please. And yes, it is my belief that all who practice medicine are that."

"A doctor for the soul as well as the body."

He nodded.

Adam stood with his hand on the axe handle. "Look, Doctor...Leonard, I'm sorry I doubted you last night – "

"Don't be. There need be no apology for vigilance." The older man's eyes went to those same trees, but wore a wary look. "There are very big, _very_ bad things out there, Adam, that seem to be drawn to good men like you and your father and brothers, as if the darkness needs to blot out the light in order to make itself complete."

His words sent a chill up Adam's spine. "You sound like you have experience."

The doctor's pale eyes reflected other places and times. "I do, Adam. I do. _Too_ much of it. More than enough to last several lifetimes." When he saw his look, he added, "It's what happens when you sail off to see what 'more' there is."

"You're a navy man?"

Again, the stranger's face had an odd look. Finally he nodded. "I've spent my adult life sailing the seas."

"You'll have to let Pa know. He was first mate on a ship when I was born."

"Yes, I know," the doctor said softly.

The black-haired man frowned, his trust shaken. "How would you know?"

Leonard McCoy smiled. "Once a sailor, always a sailor. I can see it in the way he holds himself, in his easy sense of command – and a little bit in the way he walks."

It made sense, so why wouldn't that hint of suspicion go away?

The older man nodded toward the wood pile. "Doing your brother's chores?"

"Yes," he said, forcing himself to shake off the sense of unease. "Joe went into town for supplies. Pa thought that would be easier on his rock-hard head than jarring it by taking blows with an axe."

"He's a pistol, that young one. Isn't he?"

Adam took a swing and split the first piece of firewood. "That's Joe. Bullheaded, obstinate, and brave at times to the point of stupidity." He tossed the wood onto the pile and then added with a grin, "You know Pa's hair wasn't always white."

Leonard ran a hand through his own grizzled hair. "I know the feeling, only with me it's a couple of friends."

"The one you said was missing?"

The doctor let out a long, breathy sigh. "Talk about bull-headed and obstinate, on that point Spock would give your brother a run for his money."

Adam had put another piece of wood on the stump. "Spock?"

"He's...part Russian. His father was Tartar and his mother, Mongolian." McCoy grinned. "Makes for an unusual mix."

Adam brought the axe down again. "What happened to him?"

The doctor hesitated just a moment, as if recalling the right words – or making them up on the spot. "He was injured. They gave him morphine. I'm afraid he may have become...addicted."

He'd seen morphine addiction. It wasn't pretty. "I'm sorry."

Leonard's lips curled in a sad smile. "So am I. Spock's absolutely brilliant. I'd hate to think of anything happening to that mind of his." He seemed to drift away and then come back. "Now, don't you go tellin' him I said that," he drawled even as he sought his gaze.

"Sounds like me and my little brother. Joe's bright, even though he doesn't think so. It has nothing to do with book learning, it's all instinct. I admit I push him as hard as I can to get him to think, to slow down and make choices before he leaps into trouble."

McCoy laughed. He slapped the leather pouch he wore. "You know who I carry this for?"

Adam couldn't help but smile. "Spock?"

"Yep."

The black-haired man glanced over his shoulder in the direction Joe had gone.

"Let's just hope, in that respect, Joe and Spock are _not_ alike."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe Cartwright reined in the horses pulling the wagon filled with timber for mending fences and glanced at his companion who had chosen to sit in the back with the wood. Theron Vance was dangling his feet over the cart's tail-gate, staring back toward Virginia City. Their new hand wore a light-colored shirt and matching trousers, which covered almost all of his skin, and a large wide-brimmed hat to shade his face. He'd explained that his skin condition made him more susceptible to the sun than others and that his eyes were weak and the bright light made them even weaker. When he'd asked Theron why he didn't stay back East, the newcomer said he came from Vermont and that there were too many people there. Too many people to stare and laugh and call him names. He'd hoped by coming to the West to escape that, but had found out all too quickly that men were the same everywhere. Vance was small like him in build and just about the same height. Joe knew what that had meant for him – constant fights to prove himself. Theron _was_ a scrapper. He'd seen that in town today when some of the local thugs had tried to take both of them on. Joe shifted his bruised jaw from side to side. Pa wouldn't be happy that he'd gotten into a fight, especially after taking that blow to the head the night before when he fell, but like Vance he was stronger than he looked and they'd both come out fine.

Joe looked up. It was late afternoon and the light was fleeing. They were heading into autumn and the sun settled in about seven o'clock. They would have been home sooner, but the tussle in town slowed them down. Pa'd be pacing that path in the worn grass out front of the house, making it even deeper. Joe shook his head. He had a hard time getting his father to remember that he was nearly twenty-three and was a full-fledged man now.

Of course, Pa still treated Adam like he was eighteen, so what hope did _he_ have?

When he laughed, Vance swiveled toward him. Joe nodded in return and patted the wooden seat beside him.

"Why don't you come up here, Theron?" he asked. "Ain't you tired of watching the world go by backwards?"

The Albino gave him an odd look. "I'm keeping watch," he said.

The curly-headed man frowned. "Whatever for?"

His pale-skinned friend turned and raised a hand and pointed toward a cloud of dust that was fast approaching.

"That."

One word. It was _one_ word and it sent the chill of winter through him. Joe was instantly on the alert. He met Theron's crimson eyes and realized for the first time that Vance was neither a ranch hand _or_ a friend.

He wasthe _enemy._

"What have you done?" he asked, his voice robbed of strength by a growing fear.

Vance jumped from the wagon and amazingly kept his feet. Standing in the middle of the road, he replied, "What had to be done."

Joe eyed the dust cloud. It was large so it had to hold several men, and was maybe two minutes shy of reaching them. He looked at Vance and then at the reins in his hands. Before the other man could react, Joe slapped the lengths of leather against both horses' rumps and shouted, 'Hee-ya!" sending them forward in a frenzied burst of speed.

"Joe," he heard Vance call from behind him, his voice cold as a machine. "You cannot escape."

 _Damned_ if he couldn't!

Careening wildly, the supply wagon bumped and jolted over every rock and stone in its path, depositing lumber beside the road as it went. Joe bumped and jolted with it, reawakening the pain in his head. He ignored it. Locking his fingers tightly around the reins, he held his seat, shifting only to take a look behind.

To find the cloud was following him.

Home, Joe thought. Home was _not_ that far away. He could make it. He'd raced wagons before, using more speed than was safe or sensible. With every shed piece of timber, the one he was driving grew lighter and went faster. With any luck, he could outpace whoever it was Theron Vance was in cahoots with. He'd get his brothers and then they'd all come back and –

Joe blinked. The light was dying and he wasn't sure. No...

 _Yes_.

There _was_ someone standing in the middle of the road.

Shouting for all he was worth, Joe called out, "Get out of the way! Mister! I can't stop! _Get out of the way!"_

The man didn't move. Joe had a split-second choice to make – kill a perfect stranger or himself.

With great regret he chose the path his father had taught him to take and turned the wagon.

A split second later Ben Cartwright's youngest son felt the right-hand wheels leave the road. Joe heard the horses' shriek. He felt himself catapulted out of the seat and into the trees where he struck one hard, slid down it, and fell into darkness.

Consciousness faded in and out with pain. Joe blinked and moaned, coming awake for the third time. Something wasn't right. _Something_... He just didn't know _what_. Whatever it was made him gasp and fade out for a few seconds whenever he tried to move. As he lay there, breathing hard, fighting to stay conscious, he heard a noise. Sucking in air, he held it as his mind fought to identify the sound. Footsteps.

Someone was coming.

Someone out of a cloud, wasn't that it? Someone who had descended from the sky to hunt him. He'd run, hadn't he? But he hadn't gotten away. They were going to take him, just as easily as _he_ would round up a young green calf. Tears entered his eyes unbidden, partly from pain but more from shame. They were gonna use him somehow, maybe to demand money from his pa, or to make Pa sign over his land, or...

Joe let that breath of air out and tightened his jaw.

 _No...they...weren't!_

Even as his pa's voice inside his head scolded him for not staying put and waiting for the doctor, Joe raised himself up on one elbow. After the forest stopped whirling, he tried to use the other one to steady himself. It was then he discovered what was wrong. That arm was broken just as sure as the trees branches that lay snapped beneath him. Sucking in the pain, he leaned back on the other arm and used it to push himself into a seated position. Then he tried to stand.

 _Tried._

The world rocked like the deck of that ship his Pa had taken him on once. It had been anchored in the harbor, but the sails had been unfurled and there had been a strong wind that day. It had shifted from side to side like a bucking bronco. At the time he'd wondered, because of the motion, how his pa had been able to walk the deck without being sick.

It was sure making _him_ sick.

Rolling over, Joe dropped his head and lost the lunch he'd eaten in town with Vance a few hours before. Once everything was wretched out of him, he began to shake like autumn leaves. Still determined, he fought to regain his feet but was stopped and held down by a pair of strong, unforgiving arms.

They'd caught him! Whoever it was, they had him and they would use him against Pa! And –

"You will do yourself further damage if you attempt to rise," a soft voice, sounding nothing like he expected said. "Logic dictates you remain quiescent until the bones you have broken are set."

Joe blinked away tears and looked. His vision was blurry so it was hard to make out the features of the man who held him. He thought there was something unusual about them, but then he decided it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Nothing but warning his pa and his brothers.

"Men..." he managed to mutter. "Men...after...me. Don't..." Joe drew a deep breath as his hand shot out to take hold of the man's coat, "don't let them...take me. Pa..."

The stranger gently pried his fingers free and stood. For a moment, everything went silent. Then he crouched at his side again. "A party of four men is headed this way. I trust these are the ones of whom you speak?"

Joe blinked. The stranger sure talked funny. Fearful that admitting he _didn't_ know might cause him to lose the only help he had, he nodded. "Yes. I think...they want to...use me or...maybe...kill me..." he said between breaths.

"Therefore, in either case, the logical conclusion is that it would be expeditious to remove you from their path."

The word was so big it made his brain hurt when he tried to wrap it around it. "Expe...what?"

There was a small sigh. "Wise."

Joe nodded, regretted it, and then began to push himself up again.

The hands returned. "You cannot walk. Your leg is injured as well."

Dang it! _That's_ why he fell. "I sure as Hell can try!" he growled, fighting the man's hold.

The stranger paused. "I fail to see what the ancient Earth myth of an abode of eternal punishment has to do with whether or not you are able to rise."

"What?" Joe blinked again, trying to clear his eyes. Even as the stranger began to come into focus, he felt the man's hands move, one sliding under his knees and the other supporting his shoulders. A second later he picked him up. "Hey! What are you doing? You can't carry me!"

The man's eyes were almond-shaped and black as his pa's, but the look out of them reminded him of Adam – even to the way one eyebrow arched and his lips twitched at the ends.

"Your statement is illogical as that is precisely the task I have accomplished. I would advise you save your energy for what is to come. We shall be forced to move with great rapidity and you are likely to suffer."

And Joe thought Doc Hickman had a bad bedside manner!

"Who are you?" he asked at last.

An odd light entered the stranger's eyes. He hesitated, almost as if unsure of what to say. "They are almost upon us. Do you prefer I answer your inquiry or begin to run?"

Joe heard them. Crashing through the trees not all that far away.

" _Hell_ if I care," Joe braced himself for action. "Run!"


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

Jim Kirk stepped out of the Cartwright bunkhouse and stretched his arms toward the sky. It was late and he was tired. Still, sleep eluded him.

When Ben Cartwright had agreed to let him work for them, the older man had meant just that. He'd been sent out immediately with one of the older hands to meet up with Cartwright's middle son, Hoss, to complete the work of mending fences on the western range. He had to be honest, it had felt _good_ to do something with his hands. He loved what he did, sailing the stars and seeking out new life and new civilizations, but at the same time there was something to be said for putting down roots and working a piece of land, for taming it and turning it into something to be prized and passed on to the next generation. His life was, well, complicated. There was a simplicity about ranching that called to him.

Kirk smiled. It probably went back to his roots as an Iowa farm boy.

Stepping away from the bunkhouse, the blond man turned his face upward. The stars were dazzling, clear as diamonds and just as brilliant. They winked at him, challenging his wish for a bit of earth of his own to settle down on. It was tempting – the scent of pine and moss, the rush of a raging river in the distance, the ground beneath his feet. Still, he knew it was only a dream. He was a sailor as sure as Benjamin Cartwright had been once upon a time. It amazed him that the older man had been able to put it all behind him – that spirit of adventure, of sailing the seas and never knowing what was around the next bend. But then, he had never married and had not had sons. If he had, it might have been different.

Would he ever, he wondered?

Kirk had just turned back toward the bunkhouse when something stirred. Instantly on the alert, he pivoted on his heel in time to see a shift in the shadows near the house. He'd left the gun Adam gave him in the bunkhouse. That had been another thing – the feel of a finely made and _hand_ made instrument in his hand. It had brought a smile to the face of the boy he had been who had loved the old adventure stories of the Wild West. Uncertain what to do, Kirk decided a challenge would have to suffice.

"Who's there?" he called as he took a step forward. "Answer me!"

The shadow of a man appeared. It quickly turned into Ben Cartwright.

Kirk stood down. "Sorry, sir. I didn't know it was you."

"Are you keeping watch?" the older man asked.

He shook his head. "I couldn't sleep. I just stepped out for a breath of air. You?"

Ben Cartwright approached him. When he stopped at his side, he looked up at the panoply of stars above their heads. "Breathtaking, isn't it?"

Kirk smiled. "It certainly is."

"The sky reminds me of the sea," Ben said softly. "Ebon swells glinting with starlight."

Kirk nodded. "It's none of my business, sir, but –"

"Ben. Please," the older man said with a smile. "We don't stand on formality here."

"Ben."

"Well?" the rancher asked. When he frowned, he added, "Your question?"

"Oh. How did you give it up?"

It was Ben's turn to be confused. "It?"

Kirk indicated the black expanse above them, punctuated by the light of those diamond stars. "Sailing the seas."

The older man remained silent a moment. When he spoke at last there was a longing in his voice, like the cry of a sea mew sounding over still water. "When I was young, I thought only of myself and what I desired. I had a deep yearning within me to see the world." Ben paused. When he spoke again, his tone was tinged with regret. "It's a legacy I have given to my oldest boy."

"Adam?"

"Yes. I've tried to make him understand." Ben pursed his lips. "The world calls to a man like a beautiful courtesan. It's splendor is seductive. It promises everything he desires and whispers in his ear that it will bring him pleasures unimagined and, in the end, happiness." The older man smiled sadly. "There's a reason for the legends of the sirens, Jim. They're real, but they're not sitting on a rock somewhere singing songs and combing their long hair. They are _here_ ," he pointed to his head and then his heart, "and here. They call to a man to abandon everything but his need to feed the hunger inside." He laughed then, a short bark. "In the end those desires consume the man."

"But _you_ weren't consumed."

"No, no. I wasn't."

"What saved you?"

There was a pause. "The love of a good woman." The older man turned toward him. "You didn't say. Do you have a wife or children, Jim?"

Kirk shook his head. "There's been no time."

Ben Cartwright's hand came down on his shoulder. " _Make_ time, son. It's home and family that complete a man."

He knew from the records that the elder Cartwright had been married three times, each wife dying tragically at a young age and leaving him a son. He'd suffered so much loss, but it was obvious the older man would not think for one second of doubting the choices he had made.

"I got to know Hoss a little today," Kirk said. "He's a good man and so is Adam. I look forward to spending some time with your youngest as well." He hesitated a moment. "Both of your older sons told me I remind them of their younger brother." He grinned. "I'm not entirely sure it was in a _good_ way."

Ben Cartwright's near-black eyes turned away from the sky to settle on him. Kirk experienced something in that moment that was not unheard of, but was rare. He sensed a nearly primordial force in the man – a power of command that matched, or maybe, _exceeded_ his own. The land baron was rock solid as the ancient mountain ranges that populated his lands; his strength and belief in himself and his sons as deeply rooted as the pines that covered the mountain's rocky face. Here was a man who never wavered, never doubted a decision once it was made. And yet, at this moment, in those unassailable black eyes, Kirk saw something he would never have expected.

Fear.

"Ben," he asked. "Is something wrong?"

The older man started, as if his thoughts had been far away. "No. No. At least, I don't think so." His smile was chagrined. "Adam and Hoss tell me I'm like an old mother grizzly."

Kirk made a leap. The last he knew the youngest Cartwright had not returned and he had heard no wagon come into the yard.

"You're worried about Joe."

Ben crossed his arms and rested a thumb against his lips. "He should have been back long ago."

"Would he have stayed in town?" The ship's archives were rife with the exploits of Ben's third son. While he didn't exactly raise _Hell_ , Joseph Francis Cartwright raised enough Cain to land him in the history books.

The older man shook his head. "Not without permission, and not after what happened last night."

Kirk nodded, accepting that. "Would you like me to go look for him?"

Ben dark eyes reflected his gratitude. "Not now. It would be pointless. We'll look at first light." The older man stirred. "Most likely something delayed them and Joe and Vance made camp for the night. I'm sure they'll ride in in the morning, right as rain." The older man placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for offering. Now, you should get some rest, young man."

"If you don't mind my saying so, sir, you should too."

The older man laughed as he lifted his hand. Then he did a strange thing. He saluted. "Yes, sir!"

It appeared Ben Cartwright sensed they were kindred spirits as well.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Still later that night, after the Cartwright household had settled and all of the men in the bunkhouse were asleep, Jim Kirk left his bed again. A low almost inaudible chirping had alerted him to the fact that someone from the Enterprise was attempting to reach him. Unsure of whether it was McCoy, who was quartered in the ranch house, or Scotty calling from the ship, he had risen and gone outside. Once he was certain there was no one posted who would notice his movements, Kirk moved away from the house and opened his communicator. Tuning it to the signal he had received, he waited for a voice on the other end.

"Jim, is that you?" he heard McCoy whisper.

"Yes. Where are you?"

"In the house. Do you think it's safe for us to meet? I had a few things I wanted to go over with you."

Kirk didn't like the sound of that. It reminded him of the time on the Enterprise after they had left Sigma Iotia II when Bones reluctantly informed him that he _might_ have left his phaser behind on the planet, possibly contaminating an entire culture.1 "Bones...what did you do?"

There was a moment of silence. "Probably nothing."

"' _Probably_ ' nothing," he echoed. "But possibly _something?_ " When the doctor said nothing more, Kirk agreed. "All right, Bones. Where do you want to meet?"

"You're the farm boy. Where do you suggest?"

Not the stable, he thought, or the barn. The animals might react to the presence of strangers. "Somewhere away from the house." Kirk glanced up. "How are you at navigating by the stars?"

"As good as any land lubber," came the doctor's gruff reply.

Kirk sighed. "How about I set a homing signal on my communicator and you follow it?"

McCoy's tone brightened. "Now, that I can do! See you shortly."

The blond man initiated the signal and then closed his communicator and moved into the woods, glancing behind as he did to make certain there was no movement at front of the house. When he was satisfied, James T. Kirk turned face forward and set out to select a meeting place.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss Cartwright never understood why he got so powerful hungry in the middle of the night. He'd get himself a big scrumptious snack before headin' up to bed – near big as Little Joe hisself – and then he'd lay himself down to sleep and, _dang it!_ if his stomach didn't decide to up and start talkin' to him every time about four or five hours later.

The big man heard the tall clock strike three as he descended the stair. He'd peeked in Little Joe's room on his way down and found his brother was still missin'. He sure hoped Joe and that odd fellow Theron Vance had bedded down for the night somewhere and not run into trouble on the way back from Virginia City. Pa had come up at about two in the mornin' and must have fallen asleep. The older man would be up bright and early lookin' for baby brother and if he didn't find him, that'd be the end of sleepin' for all of them. If it came to that he might think of things differently. He might hope Joe had run into a mess of trouble cause if he hadn't, then it was gonna _find_ him when he had to face down their pa.

Hoss' stomach rumbled like to wake the dead.

"Hold on there, fella," he said, a smile curlin' the edge of his lip. "Grub's a comin'."

The big man knew there was some of that apple pie Hop Sing had fixed for supper the night before left, and he'd spied a cold side of beef with his name on it when he'd eaten his before-bed snack. Both were callin' to him now. He made his way to the kitchen and placed his hand on the larder door, glancin' out the window that opened onto the porch as he did, and froze.

That there stranger – the one who said he was a doctor – was movin' past the front of the house and headin' into the woods.

Now what was that feller from Georgia up to?

Hoss glanced down. He was in his night shirt, but he'd left his trousers on expectin' that early mornin' call from Pa to go lookin' for Little Joe. He always kept a spare pair of boots in the mud room. The big man glanced up the stairs, but decided he'd lose the trail if he took time to get a fresh shirt. So, instead he tucked the ends of his night shirt into his trousers and then headed for his boots. In two shakes of a lamb's tail he was headed out the door. Well, maybe three. He'd grabbed some of that there roasted beef before leavin' the house.

After all, if his stomach decided to strike up a conversation, it might just give him away.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Jim Kirk was pacing, wearing a path into the sparse grass, when Leonard McCoy found him. His friend did _not_ look happy. The physician supposed it was because Kirk had been mulling over all the things that could have gone wrong since he hadn't told him what it was that _had_. Not that it was anything bad. He'd only made a couple of compromises.

Just a couple.

Stopping just without Kirk's circle, McCoy cleared his throat.

"What took you so long?" Jim snapped as he halted and turned toward him.

McCoy shrugged. "I had to work my way through the woods. I'm a doctor not a frontiersman."

Jim stared at him in that way that he had, the one where his whole body was a challenge. "So?"

He swallowed. "So?"

"So, _what_ did you do?"

McCoy pulled at the black necktie holding up his collar. "You make it sound like I committed a crime."

Kirk was taken aback. " _Did_ you?"

"No, I just...well...I brought a few things with me that were not on the requisition list."

"Not on the..." His captain paled. "Tell me you didn't bring a phaser."

McCoy pursed his lips and rocked on his heels.

Jim's hands flew in the air. "You did! What were you – Wait, did you use it?"

The physician shook his head. Then he shrugged. "Not really."

"How can you use a phaser 'not really'? Bones, what did you do? _Tell me!"_

"I used it to open a lock."

Kirk blinked. "A lock."

"Yep.

"Couldn't you just pick it?"

McCoy straightened his back. "I'm a doctor not a –"

The blond man finished it for him. "...a lock-pick, I know." Kirk ran a hand over his chin. "And where did you _pick_ this lock?"

"In the Cartwright's barn."

"The Cartwright's barn." He drew a steadying breath. "Did anyone see you?"

"No. Well," his frown deepened, "at least I don't think so."

"You...don't... _think_ so."

"I'd finished and put it away before I stepped out of the barn and found Adam Cartwright waiting for me." His grizzled eyebrows leapt with hope. "He didn't say anything."

Kirk was drawing long, slow breaths. "Things. You said, ' _things_ '. Plural. What else did you bring with you?"

"Well," he grinned, "you know Spock. Odds are when we find him he'll need patching up. I brought some medical supplies, a hypo-spray, and a few other items."

"And since we haven't _found_ Spock yet, have they all stayed in your pouch _since_ your arrival?" Jim asked, his look indicating he _knew_ they had not.

"All but one."

" _Which_ one?"

"The Cartwright boy surprised me, the one called Little Joe. I had just materialized and there he was, staring at me and asking questions I couldn't answer, so I..."

"You...?"

"Put him to sleep."

Kirk's anger had been building. It exploded in a barely controlled, " _What?"_

"I was going to revive him, but then his brother showed up – and his father – and they took him into the house." He took a step toward him. "Jim, you know how it is. The longer someone is under the more likely they are to suffer consequences."

"And Joe Cartwright was under _how_ long?"

He gulped. "A couple of hours."

"Good God, Bones! That young man isn't a father yet. Do you realize what you've done? You may have altered the time stream. We have no idea what contributions his descendants play. One of them could have invented the warp drive!"

He frowned. "We know who invented the warp-drive, Jim."

"Yes, but do we know who his great-great-great- _great_ grandfather was?"

Point taken.

His infuriated friend took in several deep breaths to calm himself. "Can you tell if there will be any lasting effects from this hypo-spray that you brought with you and used even though you were ordered specifically _not_ to?"

"I can if I can examine Joe again," McCoy stated plainly. "I tried to before, but the family is so close I couldn't manage any time alone with him. I thought since he was still out here somewhere, maybe you and I could find him and we could – "

"You stop what you're sayin' right there, Mister, and both of you put your hands up!"

He and Jim pivoted toward whomever had spoken. They exchanged glances when they realized the big man with the big rifle emerging from the trees was none other than Hoss Cartwright – the _very_ irate brother of the man they had just been discussing.

Kirk moved forward a step, waggling a raised finger. "I can explain..."

"You can do your explainin' to my pa," Hoss growled. "Adam was right about you, after all," he said, aiming his comment at him. "You ain't no doctor."

"Oh, yes, I am."

"Doctor's don't hurt no one. I heard you talkin' about hurtin' Little Joe."

McCoy exchanged a look with Jim. His captain sighed and nodded his head ever so slightly.

"If I may," he said in his best southern drawl, "I'll just reach into this pouch and show you what I used on your brother. It's harmless as a shot of whiskey."

"Then why was you talkin' about 'consequences'?"

"There are consequences when a man drinks too much, aren't there?" he said as two fingers located the hypo-spray. "Some can be long term as well." He waited. "If I may?"

The big man glared at him over the rifle. "You're sayin' whatever you got in that little pouch at your waist is what knocked Joe out?"

"May I show it to you?"

The rifle was lowered – ever so slightly. "Go ahead."

McCoy withdrew the instrument. He held it out, allowing the starlight to catch on its silver case and make it glint enticingly "Now does that look so dangerous?" Noting the man's puzzled expression, the physician offered it to him. "Here. Take a look."

Hoss moved forward like he was facing off a mountain lion. Slowly, step by step, he grew closer. At the last he reached out and snatched the instrument away.

"What is it?" the big man asked, eying the medical tool as if it was a snake ready to bite him.

McCoy smiled. "It emits a dust that can put a man to sleep. Something like laudanum. Its empty now, of course, but you dispense it by pressing that button at the back."

Ben Cartwright's middle son shifted his finger to the right. "This one here...?"

It took both of them to catch him when he fell.

Once they had deposited Hoss Cartwright on the ground, he turned to Jim and said, "See? I told you it would come in handy."

Kirk's look could have fried duranium. " _Now what?"_ he demanded.

"We find Joe Cartwright and check him out?"

Jim nodded toward Hoss' recumbent form. "And what do we do with sleeping beauty here?"

"I'll administer the antidote before we go and he'll wake up in about fifteen minutes. He'll have a headache and his memory will be foggy, but that's about it."

"We should put him back in his bed."

McCoy blinked. "Why?"

"That way when he wakes up he'll think it was a dream and our cover won't be blown."

The physician scratched his head. "And, considering his size, just _how_ do you propose we do that?"

Kirk pursed his lips and then turned his hazel eyes on him.

"You don't happen to have a repulsor-lift folded up and tucked in that bag of yours, do you, Bones?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In the end they had to leave sleeping beauty lie on his bed of grass. Kirk regretted it as it meant both he and McCoy would now be suspect in Ben Cartwright's eyes, but there was nothing to be done about it. Even if they could have lifted the big man and carried him back to the Ponderosa, getting Hoss into the house and up the stairs without rousing those who were sleeping would have been impossible. They'd decided the risk was not worth it and, after returning to the ranch to pilfer two horses, headed out to locate the other Cartwright son who had traveled to Virginia City and still not returned. Kirk hoped they would find Joe as his father expected, camped somewhere along the trail to town, whole, and sleeping peacefully.

Still, knowing how his luck had been going so far, the blond man seriously doubted that was going to be the case.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright woke again about four in the morning. He went first to Joe's room to check and see if his youngest had returned. Finding it empty, he moved to the head of the stairs and descended. The scent of coffee brewing filled the air. Hop Sing was already up and at work, preparing a fine breakfast to sustain them all for the day to come. As he entered the great room Ben considered what that day might hold. He wondered if Joe was just being Joe – carefree and perhaps a _bit_ careless – or if something had occurred that had delayed his son.

Something that entailed some sort of threat or risk to him and maybe to the Ponderosa as well.

Passing into the kitchen he greeted his surprised friend and cook. While he intended to leave with a pot of coffee and a cup, Hop Sing shoved a fresh breakfast roll and some fruit into his hands as well. Sitting down at the empty table to eat, the older man was struck by a sudden premonition – a fear, really, that for some unspeakable reason it might soon be this way – just him, alone at the table, without his sons. As he sipped his coffee, he tried to throw off the feeling of dread, but failed miserably. Coming to a decision at last, Ben rose, intending to go upstairs and rouse both of his older boys and go out to look for Joe, but before he could the front door opened and Hoss stumbled in still wearing his night shirt and looking like something the cat would have refused to drag in.

"Hoss! Son!" Ben crossed swiftly to his side and took his arm. "What were you doing outside?"

His middle boy looked at him, his face almost comically screwed up with confusion. "I don't rightly know, Pa. One minute I was openin' the larder and the next thing I remember I woke up in the woods."

Ben led him to the settee and settled him there. Going to the table he poured a cup of coffee and returned with it. While Hoss sipped the strong brew, Ben waited. When it seemed his son had calmed, he asked him again.

"What were you doing outside?"

Hoss puzzled it over a minute. "I think it had somethin' to do with Joe, Pa. And maybe with that new man name of Kirk." He took another sip and shook his head. "Then again, maybe I was just dreamin'."

"You think you were sleepwalking?" Joe had done it before, but not Hoss. Maybe worry for his brother?

Hoss shook his head. "I don't rightly know, Pa. But I cain't shake the feelin' that somethin's wrong."

"What's wrong?" a strong voice asked from the stair.

Ben looked up to find Adam already dressed in his usual black and descending. "It seems your middle brother was sleepwalking," he replied.

Adam's brow did a little dance. "In his nightshirt and boots?"

The older man looked. Hoss did have his boots on, and trousers. Would a sleepwalker take time to stop and dress?

"I checked Joe's room. I assume he's still not back," his eldest said as he came to rest beside them.

Ben shook his head. "No, and frankly, I'm worried."

Adam frowned. "For once I agree, Pa. There's been too many things happening around here for this to be coincidence."

"You mean the strangers?"

He nodded. "I checked McCoy's room. He's gone too. And I bet if we check the bunkhouse, Kirk's with him. There was something..." His son met his troubled gaze. "I think they know each other."

Ben's scowl deepened. He seldom so misjudged a man's character. "You're sure?"

"No. But I'd lay a bet on it." Adam walked over to the sideboard. Once there, he picked up his father's holster and gun and held them out. "What's say we ride and find out what is going on?"

"Hoss," the older man asked, "are you able to sit a horse?"

His son finished his coffee and stood up. "Just let me get a proper shirt, Pa. Then I'll be ready."

Ben looked from one son to the other, feeling pride – pride _and_ a kind of fear. He'd reared them to be bold and courageous, to look danger in the face and not fold or fall back. Did that mean he had _also_ reared them to take chances, to court risk and perhaps, invite death?

"Pa?" Adam asked, clearly concerned. "Is something wrong?"

"No, son," he said, accepting his gun belt and fastening it around his hips.

"Get your gear ready. We'll eat first and then ride to find your brother."

1 A Piece of the Action


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

Joe was in complete darkness. There was not one jot of light.

He was walking forward, his hand resting on a cold surface. He could smell as much as feel that it was a rocky wall, so he figured he must be in a cave. Pressing on in spite of a growing fear, he lifted leaden feet and continued to move forward. Thirty, maybe forty minutes later his boots struck something hard and manmade. Crouching, he explored the floor with his hand. When his fingers touched a long cold metal rail, he realized that he was not in a cave.

He was in a mine.

At that point panic set in.

The lack of light told him he was deep in the earth. It also gave him no direction to shoot for. If he continued on, he might reach the surface, but just as easily he could be working his way down, deeper into the mine's bowels where he would be lost and no one would find anything left of him but his bones.

Joe paused, panting hard. Inaction was not a part of him. It rankled like the stink of a corpse in his nose. Leaning back against the dripping wall, he fought for the memory of how he had come to be here. But there was nothing. Nothing but the blackness, the stale air, and the sound of water dripping, forming stalactites and stalagmites as it had for thousands of years before his birth and would continue to do long after his death.

There was a peace in that. One he could almost surrender to – if he had not heard someone calling his name.

 _Joe._

He knew the voice, though he couldn't identify it. _I'm here. Here! Where are you?_

 _I am beside you._

Joe looked. Of course, he couldn't see anything, so he reached out and found – empty air.

 _No, you're not._

 _Yes. I am. You will not find me with the senses you are accustomed to. Do not try. Simply follow my voice._

 _I don't know where its coming from_ , he protested.

 _Reach out with your mind. You will_.

For once, Joe did as he was told, though he wasn't exactly sure how to 'reach out with his mind'. He closed his eyes, even though the action was pointless, and concentrated. Surprisingly as he did, far in the distance, a pale glow appeared.

 _Yes. That is I._

 _You? Who are you?_

 _The answer is not pertinent to the moment. Seek out my presence, Joseph Cartwright, as you have done before._

Before? When had he done it before?

 _Also not pertinent. Focus on the light. Reach it. Reach me._

For some reason Joe was more frightened than he had ever been in his life – frightened of the dark, but, in a way, even more so of the light that beckoned to him. He hated to admit it, but...

 _I'm afraid._

 _Understandable. You have been confronted with a concept your primitive mind cannot conceive. Therefore, the logical thing to do is to accept the superiority – in this case – of one who does. Go to the light._

Isn't that what you did when you die?

 _No._

He sensed more than heard a sigh.

 _Very well then. I shall have to come to you._

Suddenly the light was on him. He caught, at the edges of the cool silver glow, a hint of a world he would never – and _should_ never know. It was all metal, cold and hard. There were no trees, no mountain streams, no cattle or sheep grazing, there was only a vacuum of sound and air.

He couldn't breathe.

 _You are not there. You are here with me. Here..._

"With me."

Joe gasped as if coming up for air from too long beneath the water's surface. He coughed and wretched again, though his empty stomach refused to give up anything but bile. The same strong hands held him. When he'd finished they released him and the man who owned them stood up and took a step back.

"It is regrettable that Doctor McCoy is not here."

The brown-haired man blinked and tried to focus on the speaker. Joe frowned as he noted the man's long lanky form clothed all in black, his shaggy chin-length hair of the same color, and the slightly occidental turn to his eyes and skin. It all seemed familiar – but not.

"What...happened?" he asked.

"During the incident in which your wagon departed the road, you were thrown out and struck your head engendering a concussion. I regret I did not note this before moving you. My concern was for your more evident physical injuries and for the even greater need to remove you from your present circumstances in order to prevent your seizure."

Joe's highly active brows did a little dance. "Are you a professor...or something? You sound like a professor..."

The man's expression remained flat. "Such associations are also not pertinent to our current state of affairs."

Joe bristled. "Would you just...speak English!" he shouted and then instantly regretted it. His voice sounded through his head like it was an empty hollow, causing pain each time it struck the side of his skull. He put a hand to his head. "Please..."

The man sighed. "It is not wise to waste energy, Joseph Cartwright, when there are men tracking you who do not wish you well."

He blinked. "How do you know who I am?" The pain in his chest was getting a little easier to take. At least he'd put seven words together without drawing a breath. "And, _who_ are you?"

"Also unimportant, but knowing humans..." He paused. "I am called Spock."

"Called? It ain't your name?"

One ink-slash eyebrow peaked. "It is my name."

"Then why didn't you say so?" Joe challenged.

Spock's mouth quirked at the end. "I am beginning to regret reviving you."

Joe shifted. It hurt like Hell, but he _had_ to do something. "What do you mean, reviving me?"

The quirk turned down into a frown. "Mister Cartwright, in the past forty-five-point-two seconds you have asked nine questions. Is this behavior apt to continue?"

"Forty-five-point-two?" He frowned. "You got a stopwatch hidden somewhere?"

Spock sighed. "Alter that to eleven in fifty-one."

"Sorry, it's just... I wake up to find some stranger who doesn't quite _feel_ like a stranger bending over me and then, somehow, entering into my dreams..." Joe scrunched up his nose. "Well, a man's almost duty bound to ask questions, don't you think?"

Spock's lean form was ramrod straight. "For the record then, I was walking along the road when I saw a wagon being driven with dangerous rapidity. I watched until the wagon drew close and noted one young man driving it and four other men on horseback in pursuit following hard upon it. It was immediately apparent that the young man attempted to escape those behind. I meant to offer assistance, but instead was perceived as a threat by the young man who then turned the wagon and was ejected from its seat into the trees as it crashed. I hastened down the hill to render assistance. While noting the man's injuries, I became aware of the continued pursuit of the party of four and made a judgment to lift him and carry him away. Upon reaching a place of relative safety, I found he was unconscious and administered the necessary treatment to waken him."

Joe was glassy-eyed. "The young man being _me?"_

He could see it in the other man's eyes. That made twelve.

"Yes," he replied, this time stifling the sigh.

The brown-haired man thought a moment. "How'd you get in my head?"

Spock's look was stoic. "It is impossible to 'get' in someone's head."

"You know what I mean. I...heard you. Talking to me while I was out."

The man cocked his head. "Perhaps your injury was more severe than first diagnosed. If you were 'out', as you put it, you could not have heard my voice. Is this not true?"

He supposed it was.

Shifting to ease the pain in his arm, Joe glanced around. "Where are we?"

"On the Ponderosa."

He snorted. "I know that. _Where_ on the Ponderosa?"

"Approximately eleven-point-two-three miles from the ranch house."

"Are you a _math_ professor?"

"I am a scientist." Spock eyed him closely. "Unfortunately, I am not a physician and it appears you are in need of one."

Joe frowned. "How do you know that?"

Spock bent. He gripped his bloodied sleeve and ripped the tough cloth of his green jacket and the shirt beneath with the ease of a knife slicing through warm butter, exposing the broken bone that stuck out of his flesh.

"That will have to be set."

This time Joe didn't ask a question – he already knew the answer.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The Vulcan-human hybrid known simply as Spock to his companions in Starfleet, crossed the short space between himself and Benjamin Cartwright's youngest son to check on the young man's condition. They had traveled a good portion of the day, reaching the top of a high hill, and so far Joseph was without fever, though he tossed and turned as if one already claimed him. Regrettably, the Vulcan was sure it was to come as the break was an open fracture on an oblique line and parts of the bone was protruding through the skin. Without his tricorder he had not dared use any of the local plants to render the young man less susceptible to pain as he administered the necessary remedy of realigning the bone, the end result of which was that his patient passed out.

His own experience with Doctor McCoy's dubious administrations had shown that this was often the case.

He had been impressed by the young man's fortitude. When informed that no sedative was available, he had nodded his head and told him, 'do what you have to do.' Ever aware of his Vulcan strength and the vulnerability of human bones in comparison, after cleaning the wound as best as possible under such primitive conditions and securing it with a clean cloth, Spock had taken Joseph's arm in both hands and snapped the bone back into place in one quick movement.

Pain at last silenced Joseph Cartwright's endless questions.

Before turning to the small fire he had kindled and placed the young man close by, Spock made a circuit of their camp. He had carried Joseph high up into the hills hoping to elude detection. A fire was imprudent, but necessary. He knew this young man's history. He did not die in eighteen-sixty four before and so, he could not now.

After all, that was what he was here for, was it not? To preserve Joseph Cartwright's timeline?

A slow smile, so closely guarded it was hardly noticeable, quirked the ends of the Vulcan's lips. It was contagious. Two questions in barely less than four seconds.

Satisfied at last that the men who had been pursuing Benjamin Cartwright's youngest son were nowhere in the vicinity, Spock returned to the fire and sat, hugging it close for warmth. It was autumn in Nevada and while the daytime temperatures were tolerable, those at night – dropping to a range between forty-five and fifty-five degrees – were not only uncomfortable for him but, at times, debilitating. Wishing was illogical but acceptable in a case where no real action was possible, and so he wished again that he had packed a kit including medical supplies before leaving the Enterprise. Due to the clandestine nature of his departure and his mission he had opted to leave all technology behind. His concern had been that any of these devices – a phaser and certainly a communicator – could be manipulated by those remaining aboard the Enterprise and used to home in on his position. Spock drew a breath and held it for a moment before releasing it along with a bit of all-too human tension. Unfortunately, he had not counted on human intuition proving more effectual. He'd sensed it when he entered into Joseph Cartwright's consciousness to pull him back.

Jim, as usual, had blazed his own trail. His captain was here.

No doubt seeking him.

Sighing was a less than welcome trait he had inherited from his human mother. Amanda had always smiled whenever he had done it as a boy, though, in truth, most of the time the sigh had come as a result of her exercising her seemingly _mystic_ ability to 'get under his skin' as she put it. He suppressed another one as he thought of his captain's dogged pursuit. Jim had no idea that, by his very presence, he was putting everything he held sacred in jeopardy. The balance of time was precarious at best and even more so now that it rested on the shoulders of one very young and wounded man named Joseph Francis Cartwright.

This was not their first meeting, though Joseph could not know it. Their paths had first crossed in eighteen-seventy six. Spock struggled to keep a scowl from turning his lips down. It had not gone well. Due to his actions – or inactions – a tragedy had occurred that had not occurred before, altering the time stream and allowing Professor Campbell Beckett to discover, in twenty-two sixty-nine, an alien artifact attached to the wrist of a skeleton buried deep in the ruins of the Bodie mine, which had collapsed three hundred and ninety-three-point-five years in the past.

Spock's eyes went to the young man at his side who slept the sleep of intense pain. A skeleton clothed in the tatters of a brown shirt, gray pants, and a brilliant green leather coat.

The Vulcan closed his eyes. He could still see it. This young man, so vital and alive, died in the collapse of the Bodie mine in eighteen-seventy-six instead of living to the date the history cards indicated. What he had come back to prevent, he had instead caused, the result of which had been galactic destruction.

He was here, now, to gain the knowledge – and the ally – he needed to set it right.

When Professor Campbell first approached him regarding the object, he had been intrigued by the offer of extending his scientific knowledge. He'd followed the man to the Starfleet lab where Campbell housed his most recent find. At first glance it appeared to be nothing more than a circlet formed of an unusual metal resembling Earth's hematite. The professor had smiled when he handed it to him, expecting the admiration of a colleague. He had done his best to leave Campbell with the perception that he had succeeded. It was a prevarication. The instant his fingers contacted the alien metal he had become aware of its intelligence and its purpose.

As well as his own.

During the meeting later with Jim, one portion of his mind had remained on the artifact, turning over the information it provided. He had quickly come to the conclusion that radical action was needed. Fortunately Doctor McCoy's entrance with his ever-present bottle of Bourbon whiskey offered a legitimate reason to depart. Excusing himself, he'd told his friends he was retiring to his quarters.

Which he did, for one-point-two-five hours during which time he did not sleep but searched the ship's records, following the descendant trail of one particular man in Earth's nineteenth century. The alien presence within the bracelet had explained that one of the Originators – those who, in the far past, had created the time portal – had grown weary of the non-interference policy of his race. His desire was not for order, but for chaos to reign in the galaxy. He'd used the Guardian of Forever to seek a fixed point upon which this future turned and had located it on nineteenth century Earth on a piece of land in Nevada known as the Ponderosa. In order to carry out his plans, the rogue Originator had stolen a significant number of the bracelets – the time manipulators – and placed them in the hands of unscrupulous beings whose 'price' was to do his bidding. One such group was here, now. He suspected they were the ones who had driven Joseph Cartwright off the road in an failed attempt to abduct him.

Of course, it would not succeed. Not unless time was already out of joint. The information contained in the visions the Guardian shared with him through the telepathic touch of the bracelet had showed two deaths for the youngest son of Benjamin Cartwright, neither of which occurred in eighteen-sixty four – one of old age in the nineteen-hundreds, and the other crushed and buried under a ton of rock deep within the bowels of a mine in Bodie, California. This occurred in eighteen-seventy-six. That had been his first stop. He had met Joseph Cartwright then as an older man, though still young at thirty-four. In what proved to be a very unwise move, he had enlisted Joseph's aid to try to stop the men procured by the rogue Originator. It had been a mistake.

And had led to his death.

Spock pulled back the sleeve of his black duster and gazed at the time manipulator. Placing his fingers on its highly polished surface, he closed his eyes and listened. Again, his old friend – for so he thought of the Guardian – warned him that he must not hold this course too long. Sadness rippled through his mind. He answered, lying, and assuring it that he would take no unnecessary chances.

The bracelets were attuned to the Originators' genetic code. Anyone else employing the technology was summarily warned that they should not. On the inside of the device there was a series of nearly invisible needlelike projections. These tiny pinpoints were impregnated with venom from one of Gateway's long extinct creatures that acted as a poison. Five warnings would be given. So far _he_ had used it two times, first to travel to eighteen-seventy six and then to come to this time. He would have to use it at least once more time to return to the twenty-third century where he belonged. By the fourth use, the voice of the Guardian warned, the wearer' mind would be affected.

Before the sixth, he would be dead.

The latter threat did not concern him. The first, however, did. Death held no fear for him. He would either continue in another form or cease to exist. But the thought of losing his mind...

Behind him he heard a noise. Joseph Cartwright was stirring.

"Pa," the youth muttered as his eyes rolled behind the lids. "Pa..."

Unaware of the content of the human's dreams, Spock knelt beside him and placed a hand on his right shoulder. He was discomforted to find it felt near normal – for him – which meant the young man had developed a fever. Apparently there _had_ been contamination in the wound, which his meager skills as a surgeon had not been able to eradicate.

All of which did not bode well for Earth's future.

"Joseph," he said, his voice pitched low. "It is time you wake. We must get you to a doctor. I am no longer able to see to your needs. It will require someone with greater skill." He paused. " _Joseph_."

The young man's expressive brows knit together in the middle. He drew in a breath and opened his eyes. When they had focused, he pronounced, "You're not Pa."

Ah, a statement at last.

"No, I am not. I am Spock."

Joe's eyes opened and closed in rapid succession several times. At last, he seemed to remember. "Spock. Right. The man who saved me."

The Vulcan rose to his feet. He would have welcomed an inquiry at the end of that statement.

"We shall see."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Here, Pa. Look." It was morning and Adam Cartwright was crouched on the ground beside a large tree. Relief flooded through him. This was the first sign they had found since...well, since the busted and twisted wreck of the supply wagon had been located halfway down the side of a hill wrapped around a tree.

Even as he finished, his father appeared at his side. "What is it? Something of Joe's?"

He shook his head. "Footprints. Two pair. There, look," he pointed at the smaller of them, "that's Joe. I'd know the print anywhere. He nicked his heel a month or so back. There, you can see it."

The older man nodded, the tension in his form easing but not disappearing. His near-black eyes went to the other set of prints. Before asking, he glanced up the hill to where some of the hands were conducting searches. "Do they belong to Theron Vance?"

Adam shook his head. "No. Vance is about Joe's size and weight. This man is a little heavier and definitely taller. I'd say around six feet."

His father crossed his arms and pulled at his chin with one hand. He looked across to where another man was kneeling, picking in the grass.

"What do you think of Vance's story?"

Theron Vance had arrived that morning on horseback just as they were saddling up to ride. He said Joe had been pulled into a poker game and, as he had no interest in gambling, he had left him behind and headed back to the Ponderosa on foot, arriving around dawn and going straight to the bunkhouse. When he saw Cochise wasn't in the barn, he'd decided Joe had stayed in town for the night. There was a new saloon girl at the Bucket who was wowing all the men. She'd been eyeing Joe all night, he said.

It sounded like his brother. Still...

At first his father had accepted Vance's story, asking only one or two questions to clarify it. But then, as the sun rose and headed toward noon, the older man had grown agitated – angry at first and then, as though the anger had gone cold with the passage of time, afraid. At one o'clock he'd ordered them to saddle up and ride out with him to look for their brother's trail. They'd found it soon enough, here on the road to Virginia City at the edge of a hill, mingled with the wooden remnants of the supply wagon and the corpse of one of the horses that had pulled it.

"Pa! Adam! Come here!"

It was Hoss who called this time. He was farther down the hill. Middle brother was still a bit shaky from whatever had happened to him the night before, but the blood tie that bound him to Joe was keeping him on his feet.

He and his father exchanged glances and then headed down the hill. At the bottom they found Hoss – and Joe's hat.

Its brim was tinged with red.

"What do you think, Pa?" the big man asked, his blue eyes wide with concern. "Joe...ain't here. You think he up and walked away?"

Adam took the hat. It was a tangible tie to his lost brother and as such, brought a lump to his throat. "We found some tracks about halfway down. There was someone else here. It looks like they carried Joe away."

Hoss nodded. He pointed to a single set of tracks near the place where he had found Joe's hat. "I thought that was one _mighty_ heavy man. Too heavy for Joe unless _he_ was carrying someone."

Adam was kneeling again, feeling the grass. When he lifted his hand, the fingers came away coated with blood. "Someone _is_ injured," he stated as calmly as he could.

"It has to be your brother," their father said, his voice breaking on the last word. "He couldn't carry a man that size."

"I don't know, Pa," Adam said, standing. "Joe carried me when Cochise's man shot me. Remember?"

His father closed his eyes briefly. "How could I forget? Still, the boots look like the longer ones we noted up the hill. That wouldn't be Joe."

He had to admit the older man was right.

"It's a good sign, ain't it?" Hoss asked, hope lighting his voice and his eyes. "Looks like someone's helping him."

Adam nodded absently, his eyes locked on his father's. They had found other tracks on the road above – horses' tracks – at least four of them. Someone had been chasing Joe. He'd been fleeing for his life. _That's_ why the wagon had crashed, throwing their little brother into the trees. It was possible whoever had been following Joe had him, though the tracks they'd found on the hill had been made by only one man.

"Until we know otherwise," his father answered at last, "that's the scenario we will go with. Call in the other men and send them back to the ranch," he added, thoughtful. "I think its best we complete the tracking on our own."

Adam scowled as he looked up and noticed Vance had risen and was watching them. "What about Theron?"

His father reconsidered. "You're right. It's best we keep him in sight. Tell Vance he'll be joining us and Adam..."

"Yes," he said, turning back from his proscribed path.

"Keep what we've found close." He turned. "You too, Hoss. I'd like to hear Theron's opinions on the subject as we proceed."

Adam exchanged glances with Hoss and then nodded.

That was something he wanted to hear too.


	6. Chapter 6

SIX

Leonard McCoy was anchored on the top of a flat rock with one foot on his knee. He'd removed his shoe and was massaging his blistered foot.

"Damned dude boots!" he groused.

Jim Kirk turned to look at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That's what you get for picking a _dude's_ duds rather than a ranch hand's." Jim indicated his feet. "Plain old leather work boots with low heels. Great for rocky terrain."

"Well, first of all, I wasn't planning on scaling any _damn_ rocky terrain and, secondly, any respectable physician of the time wouldn't be caught dead in anything less than a pair of Congress Gators!"

Kirk hid his smile. It wouldn't do to let McCoy know he was amused.

They'd traveled part of the night and, after making camp and catching a few hours of sleep, into the new day without finding a sign of Joe Cartwright or his companion. They had been following the road, but had left it when they heard a large group of horses approaching. From the shelter of the underbrush they had watched Ben Cartwright, his elder sons, and about a half-dozen ranch hands thunder by. Cautiously, they'd followed them and watched as they discovered the ruined wagon and started the desperate search for its missing occupant, first searching the flat ground and then moving into the hilly country where they were now camped. That's what he'd been doing when McCoy started complaining – watching the Cartwrights undo their bed rolls and settle in for the night.

Bones put his shoe back on and limped to his side.

"I'd sure like to know what they found. That boy has to be hurt. He's gonna need a doctor."

Jim nodded. "But he has to survive, right? Joe dies in... Well, after nineteen hundred, doesn't he?"

"Sometime in the teens, I think," his friend said, his tone not entirely convincing.

"What's wrong?"

"Besides my little _faux pas?_ " The doctor shrugged, chagrinned. "Spock. He's here. Maybe... Well, maybe something's changed."

The nightmare Bone's interference had caused in Earth's nineteen-forties haunted them both, but it was worse for McCoy. Instead of saving her, the physician had been forced to play a part in Edith Keeler's death. He didn't know if he could be forced to do such a thing again.

Kirk laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, Bones, you know that," he said softly.

The doctor pursed his lips. "Maybe not. At least _this_ time we're working to _keep_ a young man alive, not to...'

Jim had raised a finger to his lips. With his other hand, he indicated McCoy should get down. The sound came from behind them.

Someone was scaling the hill.

Crooking the same finger, he drew his friend into the trees – just in time. Almost before they had time to settle two men appeared. Both were long and lean. One had pale blond hair; the other, gray. It was the younger man who exuded threat. He was wound tight like a spring ready to explode.

"This is pointless!" he spat, anxiously fingering the weapon on his hip. "Let me take the unknown element out of the equation. Then we can move in and claim the target."

The older man disagreed. "We need to know more about him first. There's something..."

"A man bleeds. He dies. That's all there is to it," the blond remarked, his tone chilling as a winter's night without a fire. "What do we care who he is? Time is running out and we need to eliminate the target if we are to acquire the information we must have to complete our task."

"You're too much like Medora," the other man chided. "How did you come to be a physician, Abdon, when you enjoy killing so much?"

Abdon's lip turned up with a sneer. "You know, Orlo, that you can't dissect a thing and find out how it ticks if it's alive."

Jim glanced at Bones. His friend had gone pale.

Orlo, who appeared to be the superior in the situation, turned to confront the other man. "You will do nothing to the target. His death is proscribed in a certain place, at a certain time –"

"What difference does it make?" the other man challenged. "Dead is _dead._ All that beauty buried under a tone of rock. What a waste. Let me take him apart first and then we can plant the corpse there."

The gray-haired man paled nearly as much as Bones. "He is barely more than a boy."

Abdon shrugged. "A specimen is a specimen."

Kirk was frowning. There was something about the two men, about the way they held themselves and especially about their speech, that didn't ring true for the nineteenth century. He glanced at Bones again. He had sensed it as well.

 _Aliens?_ the physician mouthed.

Kirk nodded. Was this why Spock had used the professor's artifact to come back into Nevada's past? Had he found out somehow that an alien race had come to the Earth and was interfering with its timeline?

Had Spock come back to stop them?

Gesturing to McCoy, Kirk indicated they should back away. While he knew their welcome would be less than cordial, he felt the need to warn Ben Cartwright that his missing son was in greater peril than he could imagine. It didn't take much of a leap to recognize who the target was they spoke of. Obviously, these two had been among the four who had chased Joe Cartwright off the road.

A finger tapping on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. He glanced at McCoy, slightly aggravated at his timing. Bones had a funny look on his face, like he'd taken a shot of whiskey gone bad. As their eyes met, the doctor pointed at something he couldn't see over his shoulder. Kirk pivoted to find a petite ebon-haired woman wearing a skin tight knee-length satin gown cut from a shimmering copper cloth holding a Derringer.

It's snub barrel was aimed directly at the doctor.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was dusk and it seemed they were no closer to finding Joe than they had been at sunrise. Glancing at Theron and Hoss who were both asleep, Adam stretched and rose from his position by the fire they'd kindled. He picked up the torch he'd fashioned earlier and lit it. As he did, his father turned toward him from the position he had taken on the ground.

"Adam, you have to be exhausted. Get some sleep. We'll set out in an hour or two, once Hoss is rested."

He looked at his brother again. The big man had been unstoppable until about an hour back when he'd stumbled and nearly toppled over. Hoss, who had awakened in the forest, unconscious without any known cause, seemed to be finding it almost as hard to regain his strength as Joe had.

Joe.

"I can't sleep. Pa. I'm going to make one more circuit of the area to look for prints."

"By torchlight?"

Adam shrugged. "It's all I've got."

His father started to toss off the light blanket that covered his legs. "I'll come with –"

"Pa, no. Get some rest. _One_ crazy Cartwright is enough. Tomorrow when I'm stumbling tired you can tell me, 'I told you so'." His lips turned up at the ends in a half-smile. "I'll call out if I find anything."

"Where are you going to look?"

His eyebrows mirrored his lips. "Wherever my feet take me."

As Adam moved into the dark, he considered their progress so far. They'd followed the trail of the heavy man for most of the day until it reached ground so sparse and dry there was no track. From there it had been educated guesses which had brought them to the foot of another even larger hill than the one the wagon had tumbled down. His father had called it a night at that point, as scaling it in the dark was not a particularly attractive – or effective – option. Still, something called to him from that hilltop. He didn't know if it was his brother, but he couldn't shake the feeling that time was of the essence, and if he waited until morning whoever was up there would be gone – and most likely beyond his reach.

Crouching, Adam examined the ground. The flickering light of the torch cast shadows on the dry grass, revealing indentations the daylight had hidden. He pushed his fingers into one of them, noting it _was_ deep enough to confirm one man was carrying another. The black-haired man glanced up then. The tracks led straight up the hill. After considering it a moment, Adam turned the torch upside-down and drove its burning head into a patch of barren ground, extinguishing it. There was nothing more the light could reveal and its presence would surely give him away. Whoever had Joe had taken great pains to move as far away from the site of the crash as possible. He had to hope that meant they were on their side. When he reached the top, Adam halted. The underbrush was scarce and scattered far and wide, offering a limited chance for concealment. He noted a brace of trees and just as quickly realized that the plot of land beneath them was occupied. There was a tall man dressed in black with dark hair standing, staring at the stars. Another man lay on the ground in a crumpled heap.

Was it – could it be _Joe?_

Palming his pistol, Adam shifted forward, intent on making a sprint for the shadows. As he did two things happened – the man who had been staring at the stars turned and looked at a narrow channel of pine trees that ran like a gauntlet down the southern side of the hill, and a party of five stepped out of those trees. It was obvious two of the five were prisoners as their hands were tied behind their backs and they moved only when prodded by a hand or the barrel of a gun between their shoulder blades. Of the other three, one was a short well-built woman. The other two, as tall as she was not, seemed almost cadaver-like they were so thin.

Adam shifted forward to hear what they had to say.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Spock was looking at him, one ink slash eyebrow cocked. "Captain. I would prefer it if circumstances allowed me to express approval of your appearance. They do not. And while I welcome your concern, history would have been served better if you had remained on the Enterprise. "

"Nice to see you too, Spock," McCoy snarled from beside him.

"Bones." Kirk warned as gaze went to the petite woman who continued to point the derringer at Bones as if she sensed _he_ could be better controlled by threatening the life of his friend than his own. The blond man scowled. For some reason she commanded his attention even more than the two men who accompanied her. While they were a threat, she was... _what?_ There was something about her. Whatever it was made him giddy and almost unable to think straight.

"Jim," he heard McCoy say softly. "The boy. I need to get to him."

Ever the physician.

Kirk lowered his eyes to the crumpled form on the ground behind Spock. He recognized the boots and gray pants. It was Ben Cartwright's youngest boy and he was obviously injured. No surprise considering the fall he had taken.

Turning to the gray-haired man who seemed to be in charge, at least officially, and ignoring the woman as best he could, Kirk made a leap. "It will do you no good if the target dies."

Orlo frowned. Good. He'd struck a nerve.

"What do you know of the target?" he asked.

"I know that's him, laying there on the ground. And I know he's hurt." He indicated Bones with a nod. "Let my friend see to him. He's a physician."

That pronouncement elicited a response from the stick-thin blond man. He walked over to where Bones stood and stared down at him. "You are a healer?"

"I am."

"Would you find it efficacious to save a man only to have his neck stretched?"

He watched McCoy bristle. "He's just a _boy_ , damn you!"

"Man or boy, its means nothing. He is to be disposed of." Abdon's thin lips lifted in a sneer. "As are you and your companion."

"Who are you?" Kirk demanded.

"I believe you will find they are Orion pirates, Captain."

Kirk glanced at the woman. That explained it. She must be an Orion Slave Girl like Marta, altered like the Andorian had been who had come on the ship to commit murder during their journey to the Babel conference.

No wonder his head was muddled!

He addressed Orlo again. "What is it you want? Why are you here in the past, on Ponderosa land?"

"For the silver," the woman replied.

Orions, mining minerals, imagine that.

Kirk remembered that Ben Cartwright had found silver on his land and had several mines. They were small compared to Henry Comstock's load and would be easier by far to pillage than the lodes that had made it into newspapers. While silver had always been precious, so much had been mined by the twenty-third century that its value had multiplied a thousand-fold. If these people were Orions – and he doubted Spock was mistaken – then it all made sense. They had somehow managed to obtain the time manipulators in order to travel throughout Earth's – and maybe other planets' – history to mine precious metals and sell them on the intergalactic black market.

It was a scheme as audacious as it was dangerous.

He nodded toward Joe where he lay unmoving on the ground. "What does Joe Cartwright have to do with this? Why _him?_ Why not his father, or one of his brothers?"

"Yes," a voice asked out of the darkness, "why _not_ one of his brothers?" Adam Cartwright followed hard upon his words. He held a gun at the ready. It was trained on the woman, creating a stand-off. "I wouldn't if I were you," he growled as both Abdon and Orlo went for their own weapons.

"You can't shoot all three of us," Abdon stated, his voice quiet and sure as a snake slithering through grass.

"Maybe not," Adam replied, his aim shifting to the vile blond-haired man. "But I can assure you that _you'll_ be first."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe thought he heard his brother's voice, but he couldn't have – could he?

Adam wasn't here. There was only the curious stranger with the dark almond-shaped eyes that looked right through him, the one who had set his arm and tended him through the night as he raved. Fire licked at his senses. Sometimes he could see it rising in red-orange licks of flame around him, threatening to burn not only himbut the whole _world._ At other times it seemed the fire was within, threatening to consume him from the inside-out. In lucid moments Joe recognized that he was fevered and that infection must have set in as a result of the break in his arm. In his not-so-lucid moments he thought he was surrounded by a pack of wolves with fire for fur. They snapped at him with their slavering jaws and, where their spittle dripped, his skin grew charred, turned black, and fell off.

It was then he'd screamed.

Keeping his eyes closed, Joe lay still now and listened to the conversations whirling around him.

Someone laughed; a thin nasal laugh that chilled the blood. "Primitive, do you think I fear you or that inefficient weapon?"

It was Adam who replied. It h _ad_ to be Adam. His tone was cool, unruffled. "Inefficient or not, it will still put a hole through your scarecrow-thin chest."

"Now what would you want to go and put a hole in Abdon for?" someone asked. It was a woman. Joe could tell. Though he couldn't see her, he could _taste_ her in her words. "Seems to me a handsome man like you has better things to do with the barrel of his gun."

"What are you...talking..." Adam went silent.

Joe struggled for all he was worth just to open his eyelids a crack. What he saw when he managed it puzzled him. The woman – that new saloon girl at the Bucket – was pressed up against his brother. She had her hand on his hand, on the one that held the gun. Unbelievably, as he watched, Adam surrendered the weapon.

Joe wanted to shout, to scream, 'Adam, no!', but try as he might nothing came out of his mouth but a low moan.

"For God's sake, let me tend that boy!" someone with a southern accent demanded, each word bitten off like he was tearing open a cartridge. "I don't care what you are going to do later! He's going to die here and _now_ if you don't!"

"Joe," he heard his brother say, but Adam's tone was distant. "I...Joe..." There was a pause and then, "...Medora."

"Let him go," someone said.

Were they going to release Adam? Adam... Adam would live to go back to Pa. Pa would be so happy...

A moment later Joe felt tender fingers touch his face and arm. He wanted it to be Pa, but he knew it couldn't be Pa, not out here amongst the burning wolves.

One of the hands landed on his forehead. "For God's sake! He's burning up."

"You are a physician. Treat him."

"With what? Powdered plants and water? I need my kit."

Joe felt the man rise to his feet. After a second he said, "Thank you."

A grunt was his only reply.

"Spock, help me hold him down," the kind man commanded a second later.

Ten pounding heartbeats later another pair of hands joined the first. In the distance Joe could hear other men talking, and the woman, the woman kept speaking Adam's name. But those voices were like a dream. The two near him were real and clear as eyes opened on a new day. They spoke in hushed whispers.

"Doctor, do you have your communicator?"

"It's in the kit." There was a pause. Then, louder, the doctor said. "I'll need to reopen that wound and clean it out."

The second man – he thought it was Spock – did as he was told, pressing down on him, holding him firmly to the ground. Joe wanted to scream, _did_ scream.

No one could hear him.

"Time is of the essence, Doctor," Spock breathed through gritted teeth.

Joe heard shuffling. Something was dropped and then picked up again. "Damn!" the doctor cursed. "I have it now."

Again Joe fought to open his eyes. He needed to see Adam, to find out what that woman was doing with him. He needed to look into the eyes of the two men bending over him to make sure they were what they said they were and that they didn't pose any harm to his Pa or his brothers.

"He's...fighting like...a... _la matya_ ," Spock said as the pressure on his arm and leg increased. "Now...would be...a good...time...Doctor..."

There was a pause. "Jim's gonna kill me for this."

Then Joe saw it again, the light he'd seen in the barn – a silver, shimmering glow like he'd always imagined would surround an angel. This time it was accompanied by a high-pitched whine that worked its way into his head until he was sure it was going to explode.

Then, suddenly the ground beneath him changed. It felt hard as metal. Joe coughed and wretched even as he heard Adam ask, "What?" and then go silent again.

A moment later Doctor McCoy's kind face appeared above him. "Sorry, son," he said.

Then there was nothing.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Jim Kirk dropped heavily into the briefing room chair and lowered his head into his hands. God, he was weary! When he'd opted to stop on Earth to give his crew some much-needed R&R, he had never expected to end up where he was now with an illicit artifact in storage, four Orion pirates in his brig – including one who had to be put in quarantine to stop the effects of the pheromones she gave off as easily as breathing – and two nineteenth century brothers in his sickbay. One of them most likely dying. Regrettably, he had to agree with Bones that there had been no choice but to bring them to the ship. Joe Cartwright had been out of his mind when they reached the Enterprise, so he would pose no threat to the time stream – that was _if_ he survived. It was questionable. They'd try to sedate the older brother the second he'd materialized on the transporter platform, but Kirk had seen the elder Cartwright's eyes widen and his mouth gape and he knew – he _knew_ Adam Cartwright had seen something.

Something that could alter Adam's own timeline and maybe his world's.

The brothers were located in two cordoned off rooms joined by a corridor close by the sickbay. They'd used the computer to replicate their own bedrooms and the hall outside of them at the Ponderosa. Unfortunately, they couldn't replicate their father or missing brother. Joe kept calling for both, especially his 'Pa'. Though he was not a father it pained Jim to think that the young man might die here in space, and his father – a man he respected deeply – might never learn the truth of his fate.

Kirk shifted and looked up as the doors to the briefing room opened. He straightened up when Spock walked in and presented himself formerly.

"Lieutenant Commander Spock reporting for disciplinary action, sir!" the Vulcan said in his most formal tone.

Kirk wearily waved him toward a chair. "Sit down, Spock. I don't want to court martial you. I just want to understand."

One black eyebrow peaked toward the Vulcan's once again perfect bangs. He noted his First Officer's hair was still long, covering his ears, as if whatever he felt he had to do was still left undone.

"What is it you wish to understand, Captain?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why did you feel you had to steal an artifact and go into the past without consulting me?"

Spock's lips were tight. "I cannot tell you that, Captain."

Kirk blinked. "Why not?"

"I cannot tell you that either, Captain." His first officer paused and added, as if it explained everything. "It would not be in the best interests of all concerned."

Sometimes his Vulcan friend's reticence provided an intriguing enigma. At other times, like this, it was just plain exasperating. "But it's over, Spock. The Orions are in custody. We have the time manipulators including the one you took from Campbell under lock and key, so to speak." The bracelets were actually being guarded by not only a squad of security officers, but by both sonic and laser beams so no one could steal them and wreck further havoc. Scotty had tracked down the anomaly that had separated him and McCoy when they had beamed down. It had been caused by the manipulator's emanations. "Once the youngest Cartwright heals we will return him and his brother to their place in the time stream." Kirk studied his friend. There was a tightness to Spock's dark eyes and a slight tension at the edges of his lips. "What _aren't_ you telling me?"

His first officer's lean form lost its rigidity. Spock drew a breath and let it out slowly, as if somehow that would make what he had to say easier.

"Captain, you have to let me go back. You must give me one of the bracelets."

"What?" He sat straight up. "Absolutely, not. Not only is it against regulations and the express orders of High Command, but – "

"Captain..." He cleared his throat. "Jim. I need you to trust me."

Kirk knew what it cost his friend to call him by his familiar name while on duty. He opened his hands wide, almost begging. "Spock, what is this all about?"

The Vulcan paused, as if considering his next words carefully. "You know of the Guardian of Forever and of the consequences of employing its gifts?"

"How could I forget?" he replied as a vision of Edith swam before his eyes.

"These bracelets. They are not simple manipulators of time, they are a part of the Guardian itself. When I made contact with the one Professor Beckett discovered, I was put into instant telepathic contact with the Guardian. It showed me...future events. Ones I am sworn not to reveal."

Kirk frowned. "Go on."

"It is necessary for one of the time manipulators to be buried in the cave-in of a mine in Bodie, California in eighteen-seventy-six that will expose a valuable body of gold. It is also necessary that I be there – along with Joseph Cartwright."

His head was hurting. "What?"

Spock actually looked apologetic. "I am afraid I can say no more, Captain, without betraying the Guardian's trust."

He considered it. Then he shook his head. "No. I can't risk it. I'm giving you an order, Spock." He met his friend's dark stare. "Stay put."

Spock blinked as if surprised by what he had heard. "Are you then willing to risk the destruction of all you know?"

Kirk stared at him hard. When he spoke, his tone was menacing. " _Why_ is this so damned important?"

"I cannot – "

"You 'cannot say'." He huffed in frustration. "I _could_ order you to sickbay and have McCoy administer an injection of Sodium Pentathol."

"Truth serums are known to be remarkably ineffective with Vulcans."

"But _you're_ half-human."

His lips pursed. "It has proven to be a detriment before, but not in such cases."

"Spock, I –" Kirk broke off what he had been about to say as his communicator went off. Flipping it open, he snapped, "Kirk here."

"It's Bones, Jim. The Cartwright boy's reached a crisis. His brother's in his room, but he's suspicious. He can't figure out where their father is."

"On my way." He looked at his friend. "Are you coming?"

Spock rose. He gave him an odd look. "Let _me_ go, Jim. In the end, I may be the only one who can save him."


	7. Chapter 7

SEVEN

Adam sat by Joe's bed, holding his brother's hand. Outside the night was falling. He could hear the rush of the wind and see the stars twinkling in the sky, but all the same, he knew something was wrong. His suspicions had been roused when, despite his questions, neither their pa or Hoss could be found. Pa was certain to have been on the road. Even if he thought he could take care of himself, he still thought of Joe as a boy who needed looking after.

Nothing short of death would have kept their father from his youngest son's side.

The sense of something amiss had been compounded by the fact that the door to Joe's room had been locked behind him. Earlier when he had stepped out of his own room and into the corridor it had been dim and, even though the proper things were there – the pictures on the wall and Pa's elegant wood table with the vase of flowers, there was something...

Wrong.

He looked now around Joe's room. Everything was there. The washstand. Joe's dresser. The picture of the Indian chief and his favorite blue and white glass bottle of Bay Rum. But something was also missing. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The closest he could come to it was that this simply was _not_ home.

With a sigh, Adam reached out to touch his brother's burning hot forehead. They were in the eye of the storm. Only a few minutes before Joe had been raving. Doctor McCoy had been with him then. He had pronounced that he had done all he could do and the rest was up to Joe. Joe, the little brother whom he had held minutes after he had been born, proud as if he had been his own son. Joe, whose snotty nose he'd wiped and skinned knees he'd bandaged time and again when, as a toddler, they began to understand the stuff the boy was made of. Tears and grit. That was Joseph Francis Cartwright.

The brother he loved and now faced losing.

Adam heard a sound behind him and turned to find Spock had entered the room. He had shed his long black coat and wore only a black shirt and trousers. For a long time he said nothing. He just stood to the side with his eyes shut. When he opened them there was something new in them. It matched the fierce determination he had seen in _their_ father's eyes when it had become clear that day that Sam Walton was pursuing little Joe with the intent to torture and kill him. _Nothing_ short of God himself could have stopped the older man from going after him.

"Adam Cartwright," he said, "what are you willing to endure in order for your brother to live?"

Adam frowned. He opened his mouth to protest, but then said, "Anything. _Everything_."

"I imagine you have deduced that you are not in your home."

Adam looked again. If he wasn't home, then where was he? "Yes..."

Spock approached and stood down looking at Joe. "The infection was rampant when your brother was brought aboard the ship. His system was weakened by the transporter. Joseph has retreated beyond Doctor McCoy's reach. He does not expect him to live."

Adam could feel the fire in Joe and it scared him. That fear was almost enough to block out Spock's words. Almost.

 _Ship. Transporter._

"Where are we?" he asked, breathless.

Spock moved to the window. He stood for a moment looking out and then he touched the wall next to the windblown curtains. A second later the images behind them disappeared and in their place was a portal that showed a sea of stars.

Spock turned toward him. "I would have spared you this if I could, but circumstances must dictate our actions. Your brother does not trust me, nor does he have any cause to. I need you to speak with him." The tall lean man drew closer. "I am asking you to join with me in order to save him. While I have the ability to shield one mind, I cannot shield two. What you will see within the link...it will contain images that could affect your mind and your ability to reason."

He loosed Joe's hand and rose to his feet. "What do you mean 'link'?"

"It is a common practice among my people, the joining of minds for pleasure and for the sharing of information." He looked at Joe. "As well as for healing."

Adam frowned. "Your ' _people_ '?"

Spock cocked his head as he lifted a hand. Tapering fingers caught hold of a thick lock of his ebon hair and pushed it back, revealing an elegantly pointed ear.

"I am not human."

Adam sat back down. Hard. "Not...human?"

"Your world is limited, Mister Cartwright, though you have seen great changes within your lifetime, have you not? Trains, the combustion engine...airships. Is it possible for you to conceive that one day man _will_ fly?"

He nodded. Major Cayley's air balloon had shown him that.

"And that even farther into the future, he will sail the stars?"

Adam looked at the portal again. "Is that what this is – a _star_ ship?"

Spock nodded and then looked toward the bed. "Your brother is weakening. We must act now."

He looked at Joe. To him, nothing had changed. He was still lying there, unresponsive, murmuring words only he could understand. "How do you know?"

"We are...already linked. It is a part of what I was talking about before." Spock paused. "Your brother's life is inextricably tied to the fate of your planet. We must save him, you and I, and then he must return to your father's home and grow to be a man."

Adam sensed something unspoken. " _Joe_ must return. What about me?"

Spock came to stand beside him. "First, we must call your brother back to the land of the living and then, I will explain."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Roy Coffee squinted one eye, eager to fight off the headache that was forming behind it. It came from watching Ben Cartwright pace like a caged lion from one end of the great room in his ranch house to the other. It didn't help when Ben stopped to ram his fist into his hand with a _slap!_

"Where _are_ they, Roy? How can two young men simply disappear?"

"Now, Ben, you just calm down. I've got two dozen men out there scourin' them hills, lookin' for Adam and Little Joe. They're sure to –"

"Calm down! _Calm down?_ How _can_ I calm down when half my family is missing!" Ben threw his hands in the air. "For God's sake, Roy. It's been a _week!_ "

"I know. I _know_. And Ben, I cain't blame you for bein' worried. But those boys of your'n are grown men. Sometimes you forget they can look out for their selves."

"Joe was injured, and Adam simply disappears in the middle of the night while looking for him? Roy, they didn't just head into town for a poker game and forget to come home. Something is _terribly_ wrong." His old friend moved to the blue velvet chair that had become a staple in the Cartwright home and was nearly as old as Adam. Dropping wearily into it, Ben leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Roy, for the first time, I'm afraid neither one of them is _ever_ coming back."

He felt it too. Something in the air that smacked of change.

Hoss was in the room too. Since his brothers had disappeared, Hoss had grown quiet. _Real_ quiet. At first he was ready to tear into the world to find them brothers of his, but then, when there weren't no more world to tear into, it seemed the stuffin' had been pulled out of him.

In the end, Ben might lose all three boys.

"Pa," he said, speaking up at last.

Ben opened his eyes and looked. "Yes, son."

"You don't figure they're...well, they're both _dead_ , do you?"

It was the first time it had been put into words so far as he knew and the sound of those words made Ben Cartwright – the strongest man he knew - crumble. A single tear trailed the length of his cheek.

"God willing, son," he said, "no."

"But Pa, God let His own son die."

"That was different, Hoss," Ben replied, his words quiet. "That was for all of us."

"I reckon that's what I'm gettin' at, Pa." The big man rose and came to his father's side. "What if there's some purpose – somethin' we cain't see – somethin' _so_ important God's gotta take them _both_ away?"

Roy watched Ben closely. He could see the man's faith battling his fear.

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord," the older man quoted, speaking words written on his heart, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you...hope..."

The room fell uncomfortably silent and remained that way until someone banged on the door. When no one moved, the banging continued. The second time it was accompanied by a voice.

"Pa! Pa, it's Adam. Open up!"

Dumbfounded, the three men stared at each other, all of them riveted to the spot.

"Pa?"

The spell over Ben broke the soonest. Seconds later he was on his feet and racing to the door that had been bolted for the night. Roy moved in behind him and watched as it opened to reveal not only Adam, but Joe.

Ben's eldest held his brother in his arms. Joe looked pert near spent, but he was breathin'.

"Adam!" the older man declared. "How? Where?"

"It doesn't matter, Pa. We need to get Joe to his bed. Hoss?"

Roy had been watching Hoss. He looked like he weren't sure any of this was real.

"Hoss?"

The big man said nothing. He moved forward slowly and when he got to Adam's side, reached out tentatively to touch both of his brothers.

Then the tears flowed.

"I need you to ride into town," Adam said. "Joe's not completely out of danger yet. We need medicine and a doctor."

"Where have you been, Adam?" Hoss asked.

Roy watched Ben's oldest closely, waitin' to hear just the same thing. "Was it them outlaws what took ya?" he asked.

Adam nodded. "We just got away. I'll explain everything later. First, I need to see to Joe."

Roy watched as Adam, followed close behind by his pa, headed up the stairs. Joe seemed a light burden, like the boy'd lost weight. The lawman watched until they disappeared and then turned back to find Hoss doin' the same thing.

"I'm headin' back to town. You want to ride with me, son?" Roy offered.

Hoss was shakin' his head. "I just cain't believe it's real, Roy. Not after _all_ this time." The stunned look the big man had worn for nigh on seven days suddenly disappeared, only to be replaced by the biggest, brightest smile the sheriff had ever seen. "I got my brothers back!"

"That you do, son. That you do. Now come on. We gotta get on the road so you can get back with that doctor."

Hoss nodded. "You go ahead, Roy. I'll be there in a minute. I gotta let Hop Sing know."

He'd seen the Chinese cook. He was mournin' as hard as Joe and Adam's blood kin.

"You do that. I'll be outside."

Roy walked to the door and opened it. Night was upon them, but the ride into Virginia City from the Ponderosa was one he had done so many times, he knew he could navigate it blindfolded. On top of that, the lightness in his heart might just be enough to light up their way.

The lawman crossed to the Cartwright's barn where he'd stabled his horse. He'd intended to spend the night and then head out again at first light. He'd never been so happy as to have a need disappear like that one. Too many times the end of a search like this had been bad, ending with a corpse instead of a comin' home. Yep, this just might make bein' a lawman worth it, seein' a lovin' father reunited with his missin' sons.

Roy paused. Noting the hand workin' at the back of the stable, he called out. "Son, can you give me hand saddlin' up my horse?"

The young man pivoted, startling him at first, until he remembered it was that odd young'un about Joe's age. The one with the funny name whose hair and skin were white as snow.

Theron Vance approached him with a smile.

"I'll be happy to, Sheriff."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Spock sat in his darkened room aboard the Enterprise relishing the heat he was soon to abandon. It had been a risk, telling Adam Cartwright the entire truth. Still, in the end it was his world and his brother who were threatened. He had suspected Adam was a man of unusual mettle. This had been confirmed when they joined in the link. He had made contact with the black-haired man before turning his attention to his young brother, revealing a part of himself so that the shock would not overwhelm him when his attention needed to be focused on saving Joseph's life. At first the nineteenth century man had reacted with terror, his mind unable to grasp what it was seeing. Then slowly, but quicker than he had expected, that terror had transmuted into wonder. When he released his grip on Adam Cartwright's face and opened his eyes he had expected see a sense of displacement, as if everything the man had ever known was altered, changed.

Instead, Adam had been smiling.

Moving to the bed, he had taken a seat to the right of Joseph and indicated Adam should do the same on the left. He'd placed the tips of his fingers on the elder Cartwright's face and they had both reached for Joe.

And the battle had been joined.

What passed as a smile lit the Vulcan's usually stoic face, touching his near-black eyes and crinkling them at the edges. He'd fought them. Though small in stature Adam Cartwright's young brother's mind was a force to be reckoned with, his strength drawn from an invigorating mix of chaos and order. There was a strong sense of his father there – it almost overwhelmed his own personality in much the same way Sarek's had done to him when he had been young. It was this that provided balance and order. Joseph was like him in another way. The element of chaos came from his vibrant emotive mother. She even looked like Amanda. Spock saw her with Joseph as a child – laughing and dancing with delight, pouting and scolding his father to get her way; her love radiating as a beacon, surrounding the young man, protecting him heart, soul, and mind.

It was this he wished to surrender to.

Spock shifted in his chair and steepled his fingers. Each time he entered a meld with a human he learned something about himself. Joseph's desire to join with his mother had been echoed before in his own life, when another incident involving time had transported him, along with Jim and McCoy, even further into Earth's past history. He had been dying and the closeness of death had brought him to a place of peace. A place of running water filled with his mother's laughter.

His safe place.1

It had taken Adam Cartwright's stubbornness to draw his brother back to a world of pain.

At one point, he thought they had lost him. He could sense the young man weakening, felt his spirit sigh and wish to depart. It was then Adam had taken over, his ebbing strength growing taller and stronger than the Ponderosa pines that populated the land surrounding his Nevada home. Adam had refused to relinquish Joseph to Marie. She was there, waiting. Spock could see her. She stood with her arms extended.

Thanks to Adam, she waited still.

In the end, when he had broken the link, it was to find Adam Cartwright spent, his body splayed out across his brother's as though he would protect him until the end of time.

The smile faded.

Which was precisely what he had asked Adam to do.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright closed the door of the ranch house behind him. He looked around, finally spotting Adam sitting on the table on the porch, his face turned toward the sky. A week had passed since he and Joe had returned and he could sense that something was wrong. Well, maybe not wrong, but _different._ Adam was not himself, or at least not the Adam he had come to know. There was a distance between them, as if Adam was withdrawing, preparing himself for...

What?

"Son, we missed you at supper."

His eldest gave him that shy smile he loved so much, the one that quirked the ends of both lips. "Sorry, Pa. I have a lot on my mind."

"Joe's going to be fine, you know," he said as he rested his hip on the table. "Doc Martin checked him out and said all he needs is time."

Adam's hazel eyes flicked to his face. "Time."

Ben reached out and covered his hand with his own. "Adam, is something wrong?"

He ducked his head. "I don't know how to say it, Pa. Nothing is wrong exactly..."

"But nothing is right."

He shrugged. "I guess."

"You're thinking of leaving." There. It was out.

His son's black brows danced. "How did you know?"

"Oh, I was young once. Of course, I hadn't seen all of this yet." He indicated the pines and the land. "But I thought there had to be more, so I went off to find it."

"There is more, Pa. So _much_ more."

His intensity surprised him. "Does this have to do with what happened while you and Joe were being held?" His sons had not been the same since then – neither of them. Joe was slowly coming back to himself, but Adam... Well, Adam it seemed, had left the day they returned.

"In a way. I guess looking death in the face made me think." He smiled this time, creating dimples in his cheeks. "I'm not all that young myself, Pa. If I want to see the world, I had better do it now."

"Your brothers will miss you."

He hadn't meant it to hurt him, but it did.

"I know. I'll...miss them too. But I'll come back, Pa. I won't be gone all that long." He looked at the pines, the earth, the sky above. "How could I stay away?"

Ben drew a deep breath. He could argue with him, but it would be pointless. He could remind Adam of his responsibilities as oldest, make him feel guilty for thinking of himself. But Joe and Hoss were men now. While they would miss their older brother, they did not _need_ him in the same way they had before.

"When will you tell them?"

He looked down. "I've talked to Joe already. I'll tell Hoss tonight."

Ben fought back tears as he slapped him on the leg. "The least we can do is give you a send off party. We'll invite – "

"No, Pa. I don't want any party. I just want to enjoy the time I have left with you and Joe and Hoss."

Ben frowned. "The time you have left?"

Adam's smile broadened. "Poor choice of words, Pa. Sorry."

It was with a heavy heart that Adam saddled Sport for the last time in his father's barn. Another week had passed and he was leaving. They'd all been home together the night before. Joe had been permitted to leave his bed behind for the settee and Joe, along with Hoss and Pa, had listened while he played his guitar and sang cheerful tunes.

They had done nothing to dispel the almost funereal atmosphere.

He'd risen early unwilling and unable to say another goodbye. His heart was heavy in his chest, but he was determined to follow the course that had been charted for him. He had to go away to save them – to _save_ Joe. He'd been asked not all that long before what he would be willing to do to protect them. Anything, he had answered, _everything_.

He meant it.

Adam paused in what he was doing and turned toward the house. Hop Sing would be up, preparing breakfast. Joe was no doubt sound asleep. Hoss was probably snoring. And Pa? He looked up. Though he couldn't see him, he suspected Pa was standing in the window looking out.

"Adam?"

He closed his eyes. He had been wrong on one account. It was Joe.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Adam asked, his tone sharp. Was this one last attempt to make him change his mind? "You'll make yourself sick."

"I had to know," his kid brother started. "Are you leaving because of me?"

Adam pulled on the saddle strap to make sure it was secure. "Whatever would make you think that?"

Joe's young face was screwed up. His limber brows dipped down in the center while his full lips twisted up to one side. "I don't know. I just think you are."

"It's not because of you, Joe," he lied.

"Is it because of what's...out there?"

He looked over Sport's back at his younger brother. What did Joe remember? "Out there?"

Joe was frowning so hard it made _his_ head hurt. "I can almost see it, that...place. The one with the colors I don't have a name for. Is that where you're going?"

Adam moved around Sport to lay his hand on Joe's shoulder – the good one. "I'm going to sail an ebon sea with swells that glint like diamonds," he said, forcing a smile. "But just for a while. I'll be back."

"I..." Joe hesitated. Whatever it was, it was hard for him to say. "I need you, Adam."

He shook his head. "No, you don't. You're a man now, Joe. You don't need a big brother looking over your shoulder all the time."

His brother wobbled. "I wish I was as sure as you."

"Joseph!"

So Pa _had_ been looking out that window. "Uh oh," he said.

As their father approached, Joe reached out and grasped his arm, so hard it hurt. "Don't go, Adam."

His eyes grew moist, not from Joe's grip but with another kind of pain. He placed his hand over his brother's. It was trembling.

"I have to go, Joe. It's...something I have to do. But I _promise_ I'll be back. You hear me? You look for me every year, in the autumn, in October just as the leaves are turning." A tear escaped to trail down his cheek. "One day you'll see me."

"Joseph," their father said more softly as he came alongside them. "Come back to bed."

Joe's shoulders slumped. Their father took him in hand and began to direct him back to the house. Uncharacteristically, Joe surrendered without a fight. By the time they reached the door, he had mounted Sport and had his nose turned toward Virginia City. His father paused to look at him one last time and then disappeared inside.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam didn't go to Virginia City. He wasn't bound for the stage coach as he had told his father, nor did he intend to sail Earth's seas. He had returned to the place where he and Joe – along with five other beings, three of which were not human – had been transformed into starlight and taken up to ride the waves of Heaven. A lone figure awaited him; a tall lean man who was also something other than human. A man with almond-shaped eyes dark as his father's and long black hair that hid his ink-slash eyebrows and the tips of his pointed ears.

"You understand that what we are undertaking is a crime," he said without preamble.

"So you said."

"And that the punishment, should we be caught, will be harsh."

Adam nodded. "Let's get on with it."

Spock hesitated only a moment longer. Then he stepped forward and held out his hand. In it was an odd metal bracelet that shone like the finely polished barrel of gun. He took it from the other man and stared at it. "What is this?"

"It is a method of transportation far more sophisticated than your mount."

"I see," Adam said as he snapped the bracelet around his wrist. "Where will it take us?"

The Vulcan's eyes shone with a kind of frenzied determination.

" _Into_ time."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As the two men disappeared, a shadow stirred within the trees. Seconds later a man appeared. A smile lit his pale face as he watched the manipulator's energy swirl around the pair, and then consume them. The Vulcan was living dangerously. This was his third use of the Originators' 'magick'. Soon that logical mind would begin to shatter.

Theron Vance's lip curled in a sneer.

He wondered if Adam Cartwright had any _idea_ what he was in for.

End of Part One

1 The Shadow that Passeth Away, Marla Fair


	8. Chapter 8 (Part Two Chapter One)

PART TWO – 1876, 2269

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ONE

Joe Cartwright stood with one black-gloved hand resting on the fencepost, looking out toward the Virginia City road. The autumn wind rustled his curly silver-gray hair, tossing ringlets that sparked like quicksilver before his green eyes. He didn't bother to strike them away. The cold winter wind was an excuse for the tears that filled them – just in case anybody noticed. It was a ritual he repeated every October, standing here, waiting for the impossible. He'd done it for twelve years and he'd do it for twelve more. Hell, he'd do it until his bones froze up and he was no longer able to walk to the fence.

Adam had made him a promise. One day he'd see him. _One day_ he'd come.

Joe cracked a smile. Hopefully it would be before they were both too old to spit nails at each other.

He was thirty-four now, just about the age Adam had been when he went away. Older brother would be somewhere around forty-six. Sometimes he pictured what he'd look like. Adam's hair had always threatened to rear back from his forehead. Would he have lost most of it, or, like their Pa, would he still have a full head of hair but gone white as snow?

Joe ran a gloved hand through his own unruly locks. Pa said _his_ hair was like he was – unwilling to be tamed.

Sobering, he turned around to look at the house. If he knew his Pa, he was watching. He said it was nothing but foolishness, but Joe knew in his heart Pa hadn't given up either. Pa was in his late sixties now and slowing down, though you'd never know it by any lack of determination or spirit. Still, his body was growing old. He'd always been a big robust man. Pa was smaller now, thinner. And they were about the same height. Joe shook his head. _That_ had been a day – the one where he realized he was almost as tall as his pa.

It came to all of them, aging and dying. Leaving or being left. Jamie'd grown up and moved on. And Hoss... Hoss hadleft them in the spring of eighteen seventy-two. He hadn't thought anything could bring that big, gentle giant down. In the end, the Doc thought maybe his size had something to do with it. Could have been his lungs or maybe his heart was just _too_ big to keep on beating.

Adam didn't know. He _needed_ to know.

Joe drew in a breath of crisp cold air, dispelling the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him. He'd lost Alice that same year, in the fall, just like he'd lost Hoss and Adam.

And his child.

The tears fell now and he didn't care who saw them. It happened every year, this sadness that threatened to take him with it. In the beginning it had nearly done just that. The Doc had been worried he'd take his own life. He had to admit, he'd considered it. The pain had been...well...he didn't have a word for it. Pa had been there taking his hand, trying to walk him through it. He'd done his best, but Pa wasn't a brother. He'd _needed_ his brothers. Taken together with Alice's horrific death, the loss of Adam and then Hoss had been almost more than he could bear. The look in his pa's eyes had been the only thing that stopped him.

He just couldn't bring him anymore pain.

That had been four years ago. Slowly, ever so slowly, with each day that passed living had gotten a little bit easier. He'd thrown himself into work, driving himself so hard he'd ended up in bed for one whole winter with something the Doc called Dropsy of the Brain. He'd been feeling poorly. Later Pa'd told him how worried he'd been about him. At the time the older man had thought his lack of appetite and inability to sleep were the result of all he'd been through. He'd thought so too until one day he woke to a sudden fever. By that night it had been so high he'd been out of his head. He'd hear his pa and Doc Martin talking when they thought he couldn't, whispering in low voices about damage to his brain. He'd come to believe them too. While he was fevered, strange images had flashed in his mind of a place for which he had no name – a place that seemed to grow out of the desert sands, the buildings more like plants than mortar and stone structures. And the people there, they were beautiful but odd. One of them, a man, spoke to him, telling him he had to come back, it was not his time, his family would miss him.

I _would miss you, Joe._

Adam had said that, or at least he had thought it was Adam until he pried open his eyes and found it was someone else. Someone from long ago.

Someone who changed his life.

Joe heard the ranch house door open behind him. He didn't look. It would be Pa. The older man always joined him at the fence. They'd stand there, trading stories about Adam and Hoss, remembering them with tears of joy instead of sadness as they would have wanted. He waited for that familiar hand to land on his shoulder.

Instead an even more familiar pair of arms encircled his waist.

 _Come away, Joe_ , those arms said. _Embrace living and leave the dead to their hard-earned peace._

He covered the slender hand that wore his ring with his own, pulling it close so the woman it belonged to could feel his beating heart. Then he turned and laid his hand on her amber hair.

When he'd wakened at last from his illness, he'd seen a woman sitting in the chair beside his bed. The room had been darkened so the light wouldn't hurt his eyes, so he couldn't see her clearly. She'd lifted his head and given him some water and then left to call his father. An older woman had come back with the pair of them. He felt their hands. Heard their happiness. And wished he could share in their joy. But he had been too tired. He'd smiled weakly and fallen back to sleep.

She told him later that nothing had ever frightened her more in her life. She'd cried all night, fearful that he would never wake again.

But he did and the next time he was aware, and even though the room was dark that day too, he recognized her as surely as he recognized the woman standing beside her, holding her hand – it was Anne Landes and her mother, Carrie Pickett.1 They'd returned to the Piney Woods for their annual visit and had decided to pay them a call, arriving just as he fell ill. Carrie told him later that nothing could pry Anne from his side. Her child had grown thinner as well, often forgetting to eat as she tended him. His Pa said he would come in in the middle of the night and Anne would be sitting there, holding his hand and stroking his forehead, telling him he had to come back – telling him she loved him and wanted more than anything to be his wife.

At first all he could think of was sleeping. Then it was learning how to walk again. He'd lain so long his muscles were weak and he had to fight for every step. Then, it was pushing himself beyond endurance as if he had to prove something, roping more, riding longer, driving himself harder to prove simply that he _could_. She'd scolded him one day – _yelled_ at him really – accusing him of being afraid.

Afraid.

At that moment his brothers' words had come back to him. They'd always said their little brother wasn't afraid of anything. They were wrong. Anne was right.

He was afraid of life.

Anne left that year, going back to New York to pass the winter with her mother. He didn't wait for her to come back. He followed her and in her fancy parlor on Fifth Avenue he proposed. It took her several months to sell her property there and then she and Carrie had come home to the Ponderosa to stay.

"You're feeling sad," his beautiful wife said. "It's Adam, isn't it?"

With Hoss, there was no chance for a return. Adam, well, Adam had ridden off that night and simply disappeared. He didn't know which loss was harder.

"You have us now," Anne said, taking his hand and placing it on her belly. "You have to let it go, Joe. I'm not Alice. No one is going to take me away. Or your child."

He nodded. Words wouldn't come.

"It's late," she said. "Come to bed."

With one last look over his shoulder at the expanse of autumn leaves, Joe Cartwright did something that was coming to feel more and more comfortable.

He did what he was told.

Joe woke later that night, or maybe it was early morning. Anne was sleeping. She had her hand draped over his chest. Gently disengaging it, he rose. Wrapping a lounging robe about his lean frame, he went to the door and opened it and stepped into the hall. Pulling it closed behind him, he went downstairs. Outside the windows there was a spark of light – a pale vermillion color tinted the long low bank of clouds heralding rain. The house was still. So still he could hear the ticking of the tall case clock with its green face that had sounded since before his birth and would sound long after he was dead. The pleasure he'd found in Anne's arms had distracted him for a time. It might have done so longer if he had not begun to dream. The images from his fever dreams were still with him as was the voice in his head –Adam's voice, promising to return.

"Joe."

His name was spoken so low he wasn't sure he'd heard it. Joe halted and ran a hand across the back of his neck. Then he shook his head, deciding he was crazy. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he headed for the kitchen. Warm milk with a pinch of sugar might not be included in Doc Martin's book of remedies, but it had always served him well.

"Joe. It's time."

Joe halted. He _had_ heard it this time. Not only his name, but the voice from the past that spoke it.

"Adam?"

"You have to be careful, Joe. They're coming for you again. Whatever you do, _don't_ go to Bodie."

He turned in a circle, frantic. "Adam? Adam, where are you?"'

A man stepped out of the shadow cast by that old tall case clock. The dawning light struck him, revealing a lean taut figure and a full head of rich black hair. Joe frowned. It couldn't be Adam, the man was too young.

But it _was._

"I'm sorry, Joe. I want to stay, but I can't – not yet. Remember what I said. Don't go to Bodie."

"Bodie? What's Bodie? Adam?" A sound behind him made the man with the shining gray hair turn. When he did he stumbled back, confronted by a face from his nightmares.

"I regret the need to do this, but it is imperative we are not delayed."

Joe blinked and looked down as the man's hand landed on his shoulder. Seconds later long fingers pressed into his temple.

 _Forget._

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Was that necessary?" Adam snapped as he caught Spock by the shoulder and turned him around. They were outside now, some distance from the house.

"Making contact was not wise. That contact being accepted as reality would be even more unwise should your brother determine to share any recollection of it with another."

"I know. I just..." Adam looked back toward the house. "I just _had_ to see him. I had to warn Joe about Bodie. What you showed me – what I saw – I can't let that happen."

"No, you cannot. But not for your brother's sake alone. Remember, his fate, Adam, is inextricably connected to the fate of your world."

"So you've told me. Time and again. You still haven't told me _how_."

"What is not known cannot be revealed."

"In other words, you intend to keep me in the dark, even though my brother's life hangs in the balance."

He could still see it. The images shown to them by the Guardian. At first the idea that he was traveling through time and space and standing on another planet had seemed like madness. He'd even told Spock so, believing he must be ill or insane and had imagined the whole thing. But then he'd come to realize that it _was_ real and that it was what he had always wanted to do – to sail an ebon sea dotted with stars and to go boldly where other men had not gone before. The Vulcan was amused. At least, he _thought_ he was amused. Those sober lips curled a bit and his eyes seemed to dance when something struck him as particularly droll, but the effect was subtle at best.

Still, you travel with a man – well, a _kind_ of a man – for half a year and you get to know him.

For them it had been a six months since he had walked away from his family and home. For Joe and his pa, it had been more than a decade. They'd spent the time tracking down the other groups supplied by the rogue Originator with time manipulators. He'd walked on the Orion homeworld and visited one of the outer moons of Qo'noS. He'd seen things and beings he'd never _dreamed_ could exist. And all the time they'd been looking over their shoulder. At first Lieutenant Commander Spock of the Starship Enterprise had been listed as missing in action, then, as simply missing. A short time ago Starfleet had put a price on his head.

James T. Kirk was one of the signatories.

The reason was the bracelets. Starfleet knew that, as soon as it was discovered they were associated with Gateway and the Guardian, the entire galaxy would be after them. He and Spock had managed to track a good many down and to stop the beings who wore them from causing any harm. They, of course, each still had one.

Starfleet was not happy about that.

They couldn't surrender them. Not before their mission was complete. Not before he made sure the bones of the man found in the Bodie mine wearing one of them was _not_ Joe. Somehow they had to stop that bracelet ending up on his brother's wrist and his brother ending up in that mine. Spock wouldn't tell him what it was, but there was something about Joe – something _important_.

Important enough for someone to want him dead before his time.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Leonard McCoy had a mission. He was armed with the necessary tools and was, at the moment, stalking his prey down a poorly lit corridor. The one he hunted had made a few mistakes, but the biggest was returning to the scene of the crime. It had been simple to pick up the trail and follow it – as easy as getting a frown from a Vulcan.

McCoy missed a step.

Now, why had that _particular_ phrase come to mind?

Adjusting his balance, the self-proclaimed country doctor continued on, careful not to disturb the vial of precious liquid he held. When he reached the end of the corridor he halted to allow a crewmember to pass by. He didn't remember him, but the man looked like he could use a transfusion, his skin was so pale. Making a mental note to check if any of the crew had been diagnosed with pernicious anemia when he got back to sickbay, McCoy started across the corridor. What lay behind the door in front of him was going to prove quite a challenge. Maybe he should take his dose now.

Nah.

It would be more fun to wait.

Stepping boldly up to the door McCoy bypassed the code that sealed it. The first thing that hit him was the heat. Ignoring it, he stepped inside. The room was completely dark except for a faint red glow that pulsed against the far wall like a sunrise refusing to happen.

"Are you gonna turn a light on," he asked, his tone wry, "or do you want me to trip and spill the Bourbon?"

Jim Kirk's voice was weary. "Bones, go away."

"Not before you take this." He held the glass out. "Doctor's orders."

"I fail to see why you think alcohol is the answer to whatever ails a man. This is the twenty-third century, after all."

McCoy squinted into the dark. He could just make Jim out, seated at Spock's desk. "It must be the chair. You're talking like a Vulcan."

"That's not funny, Bones."

He knew where the light was and so he moved forward and turned it on. McCoy sucked in air when he saw his friend.

"You look like Hell."

Jim ran a hand across his stubbled cheek and through his unkempt hair. "Couldn't sleep. Bad dreams. I came straight here."

McCoy drew up a chair and sat down. He shoved the glass toward his hurting friend. "Like I said, 'Doctor's orders'," he said softly. As Jim obeyed, he made his diagnosis. "You're still blaming yourself, aren't you? For what's happened with Spock."

Kirk's hazel eyes narrowed. "It _is_ my fault. I should have trusted him."

"And got yourself court-martialed along with him." McCoy sipped his Bourbon slowly. "Spock wouldn't have wanted that."

Jim's eyes flicked to his face. His words bristled with challenge. "He's not dead."

The doctor held up a hand. "Whoa, there. I didn't say he was. I'm just saying Spock wouldn't want you sitting here in his quarters – in the dark – bearing the weight of a galaxy of guilt on your shoulders."

His friend was fingering his glass. He didn't look up when he said, "Starfleet is sending me a new First Officer."

"What?"

Again, those hazel eyes shot to his face. "They've declared Spock a criminal. He's been officially stripped of his rank." He paused. "I just heard. There's a price on his head."

"Good God..."

One second Jim was sitting there, staring at his glass like a lazy Louisiana gambler. The next thing he knew the blond man had burst out of his chair and was pacing the room, pounding his fist into his hand.

"It can't end like this, Bones! With Spock's career in disgrace, with him..." He had to swallow over the word, "...imprisoned or executed."

McCoy whistled. "Has it come to that?" he asked softly.

Jim's jaw was tight. "Not quite. Not yet. Command has given Spock another two weeks to surrender the himself and the Originators' devices and then – _then_ they go after him with all phasers primed."

McCoy shook his head. "How are they gonna find him if he's still back there in the nineteenth century trying to solve whatever it is he thinks he has to solve?"

Kirk looked at him. There was something in his eyes – something dangerous. "A special agent has been selected to use one of the confiscated time manipulators to go back and get him. I intend to steal it before he does."

McCoy choked on his Bourbon. "You... _what?"_

His friend rounded the desk and leaned on it. "I intend to break into the vault that holds the time manipulators. I'm going to use them to go back into the nineteenth century and help Spock do whatever it is he thinks he has to do. Bones," Kirk paused. "I can't order you – I wouldn't want to – but I could use your help."

"How are you going to... _steal_ the manipulators?"

"As one of the signatories on Spock's 'wanted poster', I have complete access to any and all things pertaining to the case."

McCoy shook his head. "You sly dog. _That's_ why you signed it!"

Jim nodded. He held his gaze. "I hate to push you, Bones, but I need to know if you're in."

He downed the last of his bourbon. "You think I'd miss the look on Spock's face when you catch up to him? Of course I'm in!"

"You're _sure?"_

"Hell, I'm sure. Things have been too dull around here without that green-blooded hobgoblin to bedevil."

Kirk nodded. Then he leaned over and depressed a switch. "You can come in now."

Puzzled, McCoy turned to look. One after another three people filed into the absent First Officer's quarters – Scotty, Uhura, and then, Sulu.

"Well," Kirk said, "buckle your seatbelts everybody, here we go."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe Cartwright halted what he was doing and looked up. He squinted into the low-riding sun and then wiped his sleeve over his face. Though it was October and the air was chill, pounding fence posts was more than enough to make a man feel like it was summertime. He'd removed his green jacket and was attired only in his light brown shirt and gray pants, a fact that was certain to make the woman approaching him chide him for being careless with his health.

Upon reaching him, Anne held out a basket. "I brought you lunch."

He bent low and kissed her cheek as he took it and placed it on the ground beside them. "You didn't have to do that, you know. I've got some jerky."

"I wanted to." She frowned. "After last night I was...worried about you."

"Now, don't you worry. I just fell and hit my head, that's all." He grinned. "That's what I get for walking around in the dark without a lamp."

"You were..." She paused. "...talking about Adam."

It was his turn to frown. "Was I?"

"Yes. It was like...before."

'Before' being when he'd almost died of the brain fever. Joe dropped the mallet in his hand. Taking Anne in his arms he pulled her close. "Shh," he said, brushing her hair with his fingers. "Nothing's going to happen to me."

Her arms circled him and her hands gripped him with all her strength, like she feared he might suddenly up and disappear if she didn't hold on tight enough.

"Hey." He gently pushed her back so he could look into her eyes. She was crying. "What's wrong? Not Pa..."

"No." Anne turned so her face rested on his chest. "There's..something in the air, Joe. Can't you feel it?"

It pained him, less than it had before, but it still did. He remembered Alice had been like this at times when she'd been with child – overly sensitive, prone to worry _and_ tears.

He cupped her head in his hand. "All I sense is a new beginning. The old year's almost over." With his other hand he touched her middle. "And _look_ what this one holds."

"It's a boy, you know," she said softly.

He laughed. "Ah, now, you can't know that."

She looked up at him. Dead serious. "But I do. He's _your_ son." She shifted his hand. "And he's a fighter."

He felt it. It was the first time. Wonder filled him at the tiny feet pressing through Anne's skin into his hand. He smiled, and then frowned.

"I bet that's gotta hurt."

"No more than dealing with his thick-headed stubborn-as-a-mule father!" She laughed as she bent to retrieve the basket. "And now, Mister Cartwright, if you would be so good as to put your jacket back on and accompany me to yonder tree, we will share the repast I have prepared."

He snorted as he reached for the jacket. As he pulled it on, he looked at the basket and all the wonders it held, including a bottle of wine. Anne was a beauty and a wonderful woman, but she was _not_ a cook. " _You_ prepared?"

She shrugged. "With a little help from Hop Sing." As his eyebrows formed a 'v', she confessed. "Well, I _packed_ it anyhow!"

Joe laughed, kissed her again, and then – with their arms linked together – they repaired to yonder tree.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A lone figure waited in the hallway outside of Admiral Fitzpatrick's office. He had been called to receive his instructions regarding the mission to track down and apprehend Lieutenant Commander Spock. His operatives were in place. All he needed was the official seal to travel through time. The man's pale lips curled. Well, it wasn't that he 'needed' it, but it was all part of the game. The endgame, really. Within the pouch he wore, anchored on the hip of his current Western gear, was one of the time manipulators. It was not one confiscated or counted by Starfleet.

It was his own.

He needed two, after all, not to travel but to write his signature, so to speak, declaring what he had done. He would do it by having his agent place the bracelet on the wrist of Joseph Cartwright in the year of eighteen-seventy-six, deep within the heart of the Bodie Mine.

Oh yes, and he would _enjoy_ doing so.

The man's attention returned to the present when the door opened and he was ushered into Admiral Fitzpatrick's office. Fitzpatrick was a crusty well-seasoned Starfleet officer who regretted the task he had been assigned, but would execute it with his usual military efficiency.

The older man was looking at his screen. Without looking up, he said, "Major...Vance, is it?"

The being known as Theron Vance's crimson eyes crinkled with a joke only he knew the punch-line to as he drew himself up to attention and saluted.

"Reporting for duty, sir!"

1 From Same Pines, Different Wind by Marla Fair


	9. Chapter 9 (Part Two Chapter Two)

TWO

They'd done it.

James T. Kirk breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the green grass of eighteen-seventy-six Nevada solidify underneath his boots. He glanced from one side to the other. They were all there – him, Scotty, Uhura, Sulu, and Bones – all whole and hearty in spite of their mode of transportation. At least for now. They'd put their necks in the rope for him and for Spock.

Now it was _his_ job to knock down the gallows or, better yet, prevent them from ever being built.

It hadn't been easy. It had taken a complicated series of deceptions to break into the vault that held the bracelets, combining Scotty's unsung ability to over-ride just about any security protocol in existence with Sulu's martial arts skills, and dusting both of those off with Uhura's use of her more than apparent charms. Bones had supplied the anesthetizing gas, and he'd used his credentials to get them out of the facility before the alarm bells had gone off.

And boy, had they gone off!

He could still hear them ringing in his head even though the alarm was three-hundred and ninety-three years in the future.

They were all attired for the time, looking more like the cast of a musical set in a nineteenth century barroom than anything else. Bones was once again the crusty but benign frontier doctor with his black leather bag. He, well, he looked like a gambler in his silk vest and expensive suit. Scot had chosen to wear his clan's tartan. He hated to say it, but in his plaid kilt and socks, sash, and feathered hat, his chief engineer was a little hard to take seriously.

Hopefully that would work to their advantage.

Uhura and Sulu had presented the greatest challenge. Due to the primitive thinking on Earth at the time, neither of them would be accepted as full-fledged members of society. In the end Sulu had opted to present himself as a Chinese servant. There was, after all, one by the name of Hop Sing in the Cartwright household. Uhura, well, she was breathtaking. Apparently the men of the Wild West hadn't made any distinction when it came to using women. She had chosen to become a dance hall girl and was dressed to the nines, as they once said, in a skin-tight crimson gown with black bead trim that emphasized everything she had.

 _Everything._

She was the first to step up to him. "Orders, sir?" the Bantu woman asked in her husky voice.

They'd laid out a plan. Sulu would initiate contact with the Asian population in Virginia City by claiming to be one of the Cartwright's cook's cousins. From what the records said the Chinese man had...well...hundreds. Uhura and Scotty would go to Virginia City as well. The lieutenant was to learn all she could from the patrons at the Bucket of Blood, while Scotty used a cover story to introduce himself to the local constabulary. Once known, the engineer could then use that connection to discover what the sheriff knew.

He and McCoy were going back to the Ponderosa. He wasn't sure what kind of welcome they would receive. After twelve years they might not even be recognized. Still, he doubted that. Considering the measure he had taken of the man Ben Cartwright was, that keen mind would forget little – and maybe forgive less. After all, they _had_ disappeared the same night as Adam and Joe.

It was possible the older man thought they were responsible.

Though his close-mouthed Vulcan friend had revealed little before vanishing for the second time, Kirk did know one thing for sure – Joe Cartwright's life was in danger and, somehow, it mattered to the world _he_ came from just as much as it did to Cartwright's own that the young man survive. He was banking on Ben's love of his son to give them the proverbial foot in the door.

They just had to prove they were on his side.

Somehow.

"Well, pardner, you ready to mosey on down to the Ponderosa and see if anyone's home?"

Jim turned to find Leonard McCoy with one thumb stuck behind his gun belt and his hip thrown back, chewing on a piece of straw.

He was enjoying this entirely _too_ much.

"Bones, this is serious business."

"Sure it is. Never said it wasn't," he drawled. "Doesn't mean a man can't enjoy himself. You know, I just might retire to some place like this in Georgia – sun, wind, the smell of pines..."

"No antibiotics, primitive anesthetics, amputations," Kirk countered.

"Hostile Indians, gunslingers, banditos," Sulu added with a flourish as he joined them.

"And ye have to remember, Doctor McCoy, it was _very_ hard to find a fine bottle of Scotch."

It took a second and then they all burst into laughter.

For Kirk the moment was short-lived. There was an ominous silence where Spock's rejoinder should have been.

Bones caught his shoulder with his fingers. He didn't miss anything. "We'll find him, Jim. We'll bring him home, and somehow we'll manage to sort out the mess the pointy-eared bastard's gotten himself into."

"The doctor's rrrright, Captain," Scotty added, rolling his 'r's' with relish. "We've beat the odds before."

Yes, they had.

But every gambler, no matter how good, had to run out of luck some time.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Shadowing Joe had proven easier than either of them thought it might. It seemed baby brother had mellowed with age. He'd spent the morning in the house doing paperwork and then headed out about noon for the north pastures. After checking in with the men, Joe had settled in and begun to repair the fence along the pasture line. Adam watched him hauling posts and pounding them into the ground, noting how Joe had gained bulk over the last twelve years. His youngest brother was still smaller in stature than a lot of other men. There were several working the fence farther down the line that appeared like giants in comparison. One looked like he might weigh in at three hundred pounds or more. Still, Joe was well-muscled and fit and probably had a meaner punch than he had as a kid.

And that was saying a lot.

Adam smiled and then grew sober as he thought of the lost years. While it was true he could travel back to the very moment when he had left, Spock had explained that it was dangerous. If he elected to return, it would have to be to _this_ time stream where Joe was in his thirties and Hoss was...

Hoss was dead.

He'd blamed himself when the Vulcan first told him. He should have been there. There must have been something he could have done to prevent it. Spock had thrown his cool cold logic in the face of that, explaining that the records indicated his brother had died from a pulmonary embolism. The records also showed that Hoss had an enlarged heart. Spock explained that, with the medical knowledge of the era, there would have been no way to save him.

Hoss, with a heart that was too large...

Imagine that.

In the time they had traveled together the Vulcan had admitted to him that the human emotion he had the most trouble understanding was guilt. There seemed no reason or explanation for it. One did what one was called upon to do and there was no need to question the doing of it, as it was, in the end, the only logical thing one could do.

It made sense. Of course, that didn't stop the way he felt.

He'd asked Spock, one night, if the Vulcan had ever felt the tiniest spark of guilt. It had been a rare night when the twenty-third century man was in a rare mood. Spock told him about the time, during the Babel Conference, when his captain was injured and he had to leave his dying father – the father only _his_ blood could save – in order to save the ship and its passenger load of dignitaries. His mother had confronted him, so angry she had slapped him and told him she never wanted to see him again. At that moment, Spock said, there had been something – regret for his choice, a feeling that he might have done differently...

Guilt.

It was most unpleasant, he had remarked casually, and then returned to his calculations.

Adam snorted. This must have been how Joe felt when he'd confront him about his emotions and force him to think.

"Do you find something amusing?" Spock asked.

Adam cast a glance at his brother where he worked across the field. Since his wife had gone, Joe had removed his jacket again and tossed it over the fence. He was taking a drink of water. It seemed safe to take an eye off of him for a minute. Crossing to where the Vulcan sat under a tree, his eyes closed and his hands balancing on his bent knees, he halted before him.

"Are you awake?" he asked.

The sigh was suppressed. "I do not talk in my sleep," Spock replied without opening his eyes.

"Well, you look like you're asleep."

Those near-black eyes opened. They fixed on him. "We have traveled together six-point-o-three months, Adam Cartwright, and you have not yet realized that I am meditating when in this position?"

Adam's lips quirked. "We've traveled together six-point-o-three months and you haven't yet learned to know when I'm kidding?"

"Kidding is illogical."

Adam snorted. "Yeah, but it's fun."

There is was again. That suppressed sigh.

After making certain they eliminated or accounted for all of the time manipulators they could, he and the Vulcan had used the two they had to come to eighteen-seventy-six to prevent Joe's kidnap and death in the Bodie Mine. Since the night he'd made contact with his little brother they had shadowed Joe, following close behind him, camping near him at night, and then watching him work during the day like they were doing now. Since time was fluid, they had no idea when the attempt to abduct him would be made or who would make it. They only knew that someone was going to take Joe at some point and stick him in that mine and leave him to die.

He took a step back and looked again to make sure Joe was alright. His brother was busy pounding posts.

Satisfied Adam returned to the Vulcan's side.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

After lunch Joe had gone back to mending fences. This kind of labor wasn't something he _had_ to do – there were plenty of young men whom they employed that could perform such menial work – but there were a number of reasons he did it. First off, he liked it. Driving posts wasn't challenging like riding a bronco, or fast and furious like driving a herd. It wasn't grand as cutting lumber or dangerous like going down in a mine. It was, well, relaxing. He laughed to think what his two older brothers would have said if they'd heard him admit that he enjoyed something that was relaxing. But then, he wasn't that young man anymore who had shinnied out of every chore in any and every way possible in order to make a break for town and trouble.

He was going to be a father.

Joe pulled at his left glove, making sure it was tight. Another reason he continued to do this kind of work _was_ those young men they hired. He'd heard one of them not too long ago refer to him as the 'prince of the Ponderosa'. The title'd made him laugh, but it had stung as well. The last thing he wanted anyone to think of him was that he was some kind of pampered rich boy. Those who knew him knew different.

But not everyone knew him.

Like that new bunch Pa had hired while he and Anne had been away a few weeks back. The ones who were working up the fence from him now. The round-up was coming and he knew they needed extra hands, but there was just something about them. His father was a good judge of character, but when it came to the round-ups he sometimes hired men he knew could be trouble. They needed men who were willing to do the dirty work – rough, tough men who could wrassle a steer to the ground with one hand tied behind their back. Deets, Brewer, and Carter were certainly that. Deets was the oldest and the largest, weighing in somewhere around three hundred pounds. He looked to be around forty-five. His age didn't mean anything though. He'd seen the man tackle Brewer, who was also of a good size and closer to twenty, and take him down in five minutes flat. Deets hadn't even come up breathing hard. Deets was tall, with dark skin for a white man, and there was a slight upturn to his eyes like, somewhere in his past, one of Hop Sing's cousins might have snuck into the line. Brewer looked like he might be part Indian. The last of them, Aiden Carter, was slight-built like him, but not as well muscled. Carter had dark curly hair and today was wearing a light shirt and gray pants. The first day they'd worked, the trio had greeted him cordially enough, but he didn't like the way they looked at him. Deets treated him like a rival and Carter, well, Carter...

He looked at him like he was the mother lode or something.

Deets saw him looking now. Putting down the sledge hammer he held, the big man rolled down the sleeves of his checked shirt and started walking toward him. Carter and Brewer followed closely behind.

"Is there something you desire from me, Mister Cartwright?" Deets asked as he halted a few feet away, sweat glistening on his rolling muscles as he flexed them, showing off like a cock striking at the ground. "Perhaps you think I am not working hard enough?"

"Look, Deets," Joe said with a sigh. "You've had a chip on your shoulder since the day my Pa hired you. Why don't you give it a rest?"

Deets was _seven_ inches taller than him. He leaned in menacingly, emphasizing that difference. "Why don't you make me, _Little_ Joe?"

Hardly anyone called him that anymore. In fact, he preferred they didn't. It reminded him too much of his absent brothers.

"Maybe I will," he replied, completely unruffled.

The big man stared him down for another heartbeat or two and then leaned back and roared. A second later he slapped him on the shoulder so hard it nearly drove him to the ground.

"I like you, Cartwright! You have the heart of a warrior!"

Joe blinked. This was hardly the outcome he'd expected. "You...you don't want to fight me?"

"On the contrary, I would be _honored_ to meet you in battle."

"Battle?"

"Unfortunately, I have been ordered to take the coward's path."

"Who are you calling a 'coward'?" Carter sniveled.

Joe looked from one to the other. "What is this all about?"

Brewer stepped between them and drew his gun. His lip curled with a sneer as he said, "This. It's time you come with us, _Mister_ Cartwright."

Joe looked from one to the other. There were three of them and one of him, but only one was armed.

It was about even.

"Ah," Deets said, nodding. "You will not surrender without a fight."

"I sure as Hell won't!" Joe shouted.

And charged.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright shifted in his chair. He was seated behind his desk working on paperwork. It seemed he did more and more of this every day and spent less and less time in the saddle. Most of the hard work and rough-riding he'd been forced to turn over to Joe, not because his son insisted, but because the time had come at last to admit to himself that he simply could not do it anymore. When he felt like complaining, his thoughts turned to Dan Tolliver1. Dan had refused to admit he was getting old and that refusal had almost cost his son his life. Joe had been the one to tell Dan that a man had to move on, to find something he was capable of doing – maybe just sit back and pass on what he had learned. It was hard, but he was ready. His life had been good. He'd spent it carving out an empire – creating a legacy to leave to his sons – and it was time to pass it on.

Sadly, Joe was the only son he had left.

The irony was, of all of the boys, Joe was the one he had most feared would not live to see old age. Adam had always been so sensible, so steady, and Hoss... Ben choked to think of his gentle middle boy who had been taken from them so suddenly and so senselessly. Hoss, well, he had been as rock steady as the earth itself. Joe had always been reckless and impulsive, so full of anger, and impossible to control. Now, he was going to be a father himself. Ben shook his head as a smile chased away the aches and pains.

He was going to be a _grandfather._

The thought of it was bittersweet as the reality of Joe's first child who lay buried in the same grave as his first wife. He'd loved Alice. He'd mourned her loss nearly as much as his son had. For a long time he believed Joe would never dare to love again, but then Anne had returned. They'd had a special bond, the two of them. Just like Joe had with Carrie. A bond that, with time, had turned to _true_ love.

A soft footfall alerted him to the fact that his daughter-in-law had come into the room. She was carrying a bouquet of autumn flowers. Hop Sing came out of the kitchen to take them from her and the two of them laughed as they exchanged a few words. Anne, though forceful and quixotic at times as Joe's mother had been, was a welcome addition to their home. She loved his son and that was all that mattered.

With a familiar and long missed swish of skirts, Joe's wife came to his side. "How are you this evening, Pa?" she asked.

Pa. Joe had insisted. He had a daughter now in the place of two sons.

"I'm fine, Anne. How are you?"

She sighed. "Waiting on Joe. You know, I think he'd work twenty hours a day if you let him."

"There's little I do or do not 'let' Joseph do anymore." He smiled. "It's your job now to rein him in."

She turned and looked out the window above the dining table. "He's like a stallion, isn't he? With that mane of silver hair blowing wild in the wind and his muscles rippling in the sun."

While he had never considered describing his son in _quite_ that way, he could appreciate the image. "You've tamed him."'

Anne pivoted toward him. She looked ill. "Have I?"

Ben rose and went to stand beside her. "I meant that as a compliment."

"It's just, I would never want to change Joe. I hope you know that."

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Life and time change us all. Now, why don't you go up and get ready for supper? I'm sure Joe will be home shortly."

He watched until she had mounted the stairs and headed toward the wing he had given to the pair. After what happened to Alice, Joe had decided to stay in the ranch house rather than build his own. Here, there were eyes and ears other than his to guard his wife and child-to-be.

Rising from his seat, the older man crossed to the door and opened it and looked out, half expecting to see a man clothed all in black walking his way. He was too old to wait like Joe by the fence post.

But he never stopped hoping.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe Cartwright swayed on his feet, but he didn't go down. His lip was bleeding. _Hell_ , just about everything on him was bleeding from his forehead where Deets had just landed a good punch to his knees where they'd scraped the ground when he fell, cutting through the fabric of his gray trousers.

"This is pointless," he heard Carter say. "End it!"

Deets spat on the ground. "I would not expect you to know anything of honor, worm. You who work in Intelligence spend your days in the dark like the _gagh,_ cowering beneath the belly of a rock!"

Joe's eyes went from one man to the other. He hated to side with the big guy, but it seemed doing so might make his life longer.

Raising his fists again, Joe tried to look fierce. "Come on," he demanded. "It's not...over until it's over."

Carter looked at him with disdain. "Oh, it will be over soon for you, Cartwright. You'll be dead."

If that was their goal, why not kill him now? "You're bluffing."

A strange weapon appeared as if by magic in Carter's pale hand. It resembled a gun but was too compact. And there was no barrel. As the man with the dark blond hair spoke, he aimed it at him. "Try me."

"He cannot die now," Brewer stated, speaking for the first time. "Neither the time nor place are right. Our orders are to deliver him to Bodie alive, and then to collect our fee."

The name sent chills shivering through him. Bodie. Adam had warned him about it – if the figure he had seen in his dreams _was_ Adam.

"I see you've heard of it," Carter said, his upper lip twitching.

"I have and I'm not going there."

"Deets."

Before Joe could think to move the giant of a man had hold of him. He pinned his arms to his back even as Carter swooped in like a carrion bird scouting out supper to come. "You have a choice, Mister Cartwright. You can come with us willingly, or I will order Brewer to give you some incentive. Perhaps that pale thing you have taken for a mate..."

Joe froze. Visions of his home, his wife, his child going up in flames swam before his blood-shot eyes. A woman was at the window of the burning house looking out at him, pleading for him to save her. It was Alice. And behind her was Anne.

"No," he said simply. "No."

Carter's pale eyes flicked to the powerfully built man. A challenge passed between them. "Deets, stand down," he ordered.

Deets bristled. Then he nodded. "It is my regret," he said, seeking Joe's gaze and holding it, "that you will not die in battle as you deserve. You are a man of honor."

'Thank you' just did _not_ seem the right thing to say.

"Bind him!" Carter ordered. Brewer was the one who complied, roughly taking his hands and drawing them up behind his back where he bound them with some sort of twine. When he was done, the small man ordered, "Get the wagon and put him in the back."

Joe knew once he was in the back of that wagon he'd lost any hope of escape.

"Pa will be looking for me," he warned. "And Sheriff Coffee."

"They will not find you."

"Why not?" he asked.

Joe watched as Carter caught his green coat from the fence and then came to stand before him. "Because you will be buried so deep in the bowels of the Earth that no one will find you. Your fleshly form will be left to rot until you are nothing but a pile of bones and a story to be told to an audience that has no interest in the tale."

Joe's eyes misted even as his jaw grew tight. "Why? Tell me why."

The thin pale-skinned man looked directly at him. "I suppose you deserve to know. Your death and burial in the Bodie Mine will serve as a catalyst, It will echo down the centuries until it reaches one man, a man who – thanks to your capture today – will be reborn."

They were mad. The lot of them. But that meant little. Mad or not, his death was the only thing that would satisfy them.

Joe bit his lip and considered his options. Finally he decided that if he was going to die, it would be on his own terms. Bracing himself, he called upon his waning strength for one more attempt – one more _chance_ to break free and smell the open air. One more –

Deets was there, looming over him again. There was a pistol in his hand, poised to slap him in the side of the head. Regret filled the big man's eyes, not for what he was doing, but for the _way_ he was being forced to do it.

Deet's hand moved. Joe felt steel contact flesh even as Carter uttered words he would only half-hear.

"Good night, sweet prince."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam stopped at Spock's side. The Vulcan was rising to his feet. "I have been considering the circumstances in which we find ourselves and have come to a conclusion concerning our proper course of action."

"Yes?"

"I believe it best we advise your brother as to the threat facing him."

Adam's black brows shot up. "Tell Joe? About me? About _you_ , and where you come from?"

Spock nodded. "He is already aware of me through the link, and while the truth has not entered his conscious thinking, it is locked in his subconscious and should render the shock...acceptable."

Well, _that_ was encouraging.

"Why?"

The Vulcan's eyes flicked to the field where Joe was working. "It would be well if one of us traveled ahead to Bodie. I believe it should be you."

"Why me?"

Spock hesitated. "You have a working knowledge of mines, do you not? And are an architect?"

"Yes."

"You will, therefore, have a better grasp of the layout of the mine. If you brother is taken and ends there, it is imperative that we have a better way to reach him. Before..." The Vulcan paused. His black eyes narrowed.

"Before?" Adam drew in a sharp breath. He was still wrapping his brain around time travel, but one thing he understood was that this man – this alien – had been moving through it for some time. "Spock, have you been _here_ before? In this place? At _this_ time?"

The Vulcan did sigh this time. "It was not my intention to indicate that."

"Meaning 'yes'." Adam bristled. "By all that's holy, _why_ didn't you tell me?"

"The knowledge would have served no purpose other than to confuse you."

The dark-haired man was putting it together. "So you were here before, in eighteen-seventy-six, in Bodie – _with_ Joe?"

Those dark eyes held his. "Yes."

"You said he was kidnapped and left at the bottom of the mine, and that we had to stop him from going there. Which means you weren't able to stop him before." A chill ran the length of his spine. "What happened the first time? _What happened to Joe?"_

Spock's voice was quiet. "I made a miscalculation. Your brother died."

Adam stumbled back. What did that mean? Joe _died?_ Joe was alive now, in the next field, hammering away at fence posts. His brother hadn't yet been to Bodie, but he'd already _died_ in Bodie? Adam pressed his hands to his head and moaned.

Again, the Vulcan's voice was quiet. "I can take it all away. If it is too much for you. Adam," Spock waited until he looked, "even with our travels, this may be too much for you to bear."

He was shaking. "But you need me, right? That's why you pulled me out of my own time and took me with you? You _need_ me to save Joe."

"You are the random element. The past has not been repeated, it is renewed." Spock pursed his lips. "I was in the mine. I was not able to reach your brother in time. There was a moment, a window when he might have come to me, but he would not. He did not trust me."

Adam nodded. "And you knew he would trust _me_ , no matter what."

Spock hesitated. "I do not have a biological brother, Adam, but I understand the bond. It is the same with James Kirk and me."

The admission had taken something out of him.

Adam shook himself, trying to forget what he'd just heard, or at least pushing it away until he had time to process it. The only thing that was important was that Joe was in danger and this man – this alien – for whatever motivation of his own, was Hell-bent on saving him.

"Well," he said at last, "if we keep close enough watch on Joe my knowledge of that mine will be unnecessary. This time we'll keep him from ending up there. I say we stick together..." Adam broke off what he had been about to say. Spock had moved toward the field where Joe was working. The Vulcan rarely showed any emotion. He was showing it now.

Adam looked.

Joe was gone.

1 A Time to Step Down


	10. Chapter 10 (Part Two Chapter Three)

THREE

It was after supper and Joe was still not back. Ben had talked to Anne and had a hard time calming her fears, but in the end had managed to convince her that it was not all that unusual for any of the men to be out late, or even all night. Things came up, he said, unexpected things that needed tending. If Joseph was not back by morning, he promised, he'd go looking himself.

In the end it had taken her mother's soft scolding to get her to bed.

As for him, old habits died hard. He'd rambled around the house for several hours, interrupting Hop Sing in the kitchen irritating his foreman when he came in to drop off supplies, and finally even irritating himself by how much difficulty he had thinking of Joseph as a grown man who could take care of himself. He and his youngest had been through a lot together, from the loss of his mother through killing fevers, blindness, and then, that terrible fire that had consumed not only Joe's house but his hopes for the future.

Feeling everyone of his sixty-odd years, Ben lowered himself into the blue velvet chair that had seen him through it all. He braced his elbows on the arms and leaned to the right, resting his chin on his fist. He'd sat here awaiting the birth of his last boy. It was here he had tested and teased all of them. And here, on that awful day in seventy-two, when he'd been informed Hoss had not made it. The thought of it brought tears to his eyes, so he closed them and leaned back.

It was then he heard a voice.

"Mister Cartwright?"

Ben blinked back the tears and looked. The great room was empty – or so it seemed.

"Who's there?" he asked, instantly alert.

"Friends," the man said as his shadow separated from the ones cast by the burning oil lamp on the side table, "whether you believe it or not."

It was a young blond man, about Joe's age. With him came another man, older, a little taller, with ice blue eyes and a genuine smile. Ben's own near-black eyes narrowed. The pair seemed impossibly familiar.

"Who are you? How did you get in?"

"As to how we came in, it was through the side door into the kitchen. We saw the light and figured either you or your son were still up. It was...imperative that we not be seen." The blond man paused. "As to 'who' we are – we've met before. Long ago."

Ben rose and walked to the oil lamp where he spun the thumb wheel, illuminating the pair. He cast his mind back, thinking over all the ranch hands he had employed in the last fifteen or so years. When the hook finally sunk into one, he had two reactions – anger, and then astonishment.

"Kirk..." He turned toward the older man. "And...Doctor McCoy." Ben shook his head. "It can't be. You haven't...aged a day. How can that be?"

McCoy shrugged. "Good breeding?"

Ben stumbled back to his chair and sat down. He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. "I must be dreaming."

Several heartbeats later he felt a man's hand on his arm. He looked up to find Doctor McCoy standing by his chair. "We're real, Ben, just as real as the threat to your son."

"Joseph?" There was only one to worry about now. "What about...?" Ben halted. These men. They had been at the Ponderosa the day Joe and Adam disappeared.

How _dare_ they?

The blond man he knew as Jim Kirk all those years ago followed his thoughts without him expressing them.

"As I said, Mister Cartwright, you have no reason to trust us. Our acquaintance twelve years back lasted a day or two and ended in mysterious circumstances. We...can't explain to you why or how we came, _or_ why we left when we did. But then – as now – it has to do with the welfare of your remaining son."

"There are men who want to hurt him," the doctor said softly.

"Men?" he asked, looking from one to the other. "Other men than you?"

"We don't want to hurt Joe, Ben," Jim said, taking a seat on the edge of the low table that butted up against the settee. "A friend of ours," he glanced at the doctor, "a man we both respect and care for found out your son was in danger. He came here in order to help him. The trouble is, our friend ended getting lost. We've come back to find him."

"Why was Joe – _is_ Joe in danger?"

McCoy answered. "We don't know. But there are men hunting him. _Bad_ men, Ben.

"This time we have other friends with us. We think we can stop them, but we need your help – and trust – as well as that of your son," the blond man said. "If we could speak to him?"

"Joe isn't here."

The two men exchanged glances. It was Jim Kirk who was immediately on the alert. "If Joe's not here, where is he?"

Ben glanced at the stairs. "He...didn't come home tonight. I told Anne – his wife – that he probably ran into something that delayed him and made camp for the night." The older man paused. "I assured her he would be home in the morning."

"Good God!" McCoy breathed. "Jim, you don't think... Are we too late?"

Jim was on his feet in an instant. "What was your son's last position?"

Ben's fingers gripped the armrests, the knuckles gone white. "In the north pasture, mending fences."

The blond man was already on his way to the door.

"Jim," McCoy called gently. "We're supposed to rendezvous with the others, remember?"

"Damn!" Kirk spun to look at his friend. "All right. We'll keep that and then head out." He turned and looked at him. "Mister Cartwright, you have my word that – if it is within our power – we will _find_ your son and bring him back to you." His eyes flicked to the doctor. "Come on, Bones."

Jim's hand was on the door before Ben could find his feet. "Jim!" he called.

The blond man spun back toward him.

"Who...who _are_ you?"

McCoy was at his side. They both looked at him.

"Like we said," Kirk replied, "friends."

And then both of them were gone.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As Ben Cartwright followed the two men out into the night, watching them mount two horses and ride until their forms became one with the descending shadows of the night, a slight female form stepped out of the others cloaking the head of the stair that led to the great room. Her eyes on the older man, she quickly descended without a sound and passed into the kitchen. Once there, Anne Cartwright gripped the edge of Hop Sing's preparation table, breathing deeply to steady her nerves. She didn't know who those men were, but she could hear the truth in their voices. They believed Joe was in deadly danger. Someone had taken him.

Someone who meant to harm or, maybe _kill_ him.

Anne glanced at her attire. She was wearing her night dress. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but finding the father of her child and making certain he was safe and whole. Looking out of the kitchen window, she checked to see if Ben was still there. He was. His back was bent. He looked like he'd aged twenty years.

She watched Ben return to the house a few minutes later with his head down, as though he feared the worst had already happened, and head for his office.

Once her father-in-law was settled, Anne slipped out the side door and headed for the stable. There would be spare boots there – too big, but they'd do. Joe had ridden out on a sturdy work animal that morning, leaving his current Paint behind. He called this one Cochise too. The horse knew her. It would carry her without question.

After finding a spare pair of Joe's boots and stuffing the toes so they wouldn't fall off her smaller feet, Anne saddled Cochise and mounted. Pointing the horse's nose toward the open door, she moved him outside and then leaned down and breathed next to his ear.

"Cooch, Joe's in trouble. Find Joe."

The horse blew air out of his nostrils and nickered, and then he flew like the wind.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Nyota Uhura was standing at the bar in the Bucket of Blood saloon watching the crowd. She glanced at the clock. Her shift ended in thirty minutes and she was supposed to meet with the Captain and the others in approximately two hours at a point halfway between the city and the Cartwright ranch. So far the only things she'd managed to collect were propositions, a couple of drunken proposals, and a coarse handprint on her rear. It had been interesting at the start of her day to watch the cowboys and miners file in one by one and take note of her presence. One, who sounded like he was from one of the southern states, had complained to the Bucket's owner, saying he had _polluted_ the atmosphere of the establishment by employing a 'Darkie'. Nyota's lips curled. He had quickly been shouted down by a dozen others and then taken by the collar and thrown into the street amidst cheers and boos.

Apparently, she was considered rather exotic by the rough and tumble white men who frequented the bar and, when she began to sing, they'd hung on every word and every sashay of her ample hips. She'd gone from table to table, playing up to them, running fingers along their scruffy sun-burnt faces as she searched each one for a sign of anything out of the ordinary. For the greater part of the day she had found nothing.

That had changed five minutes ago.

The Bucket had the stereotypical swinging doors that ushered sober men in and drunks out. She'd heard them swing a hundred times since she'd started her day. Still, there was something different the last time it happened. Maybe it was the hush that fell on the room. Maybe it was the fact that all heads turned.

Maybe it was the man who made them turn.

She was waiting on a tray of drinks and doing her best not to stare. The man was dressed in black from his hat to his snakeskin boots, and had his gun tied down just like all of the illustrations she'd seen of gunslingers in the Wild West. Nyota's beautiful face formed a half-smile. So not all stereotypes were untrue. But unlike those illustrations, his skin was neither tough as leather nor burnt brown by constant exposure to the sun. It was white. _Pure_ white. So was his hair. But his eyes, his eyes...

They were crimson.

She recognized him as an albino, a person effected by a genetic disorder that resulted in a lack of pigmentation of the skin. Other than a thin band of skin at his wrists, where his sleeves failed to meet with his gloves, and his face, he was entirely swathed in cloth, most likely to protect that sensitive skin. Just looking at him set off all the alarm bells her academy training had given her. She didn't know how she knew, but somehow she did. This man was not from this time anymore than she was.

She wondered if he could tell the same thing about her.

"Here, you are, Nyota," the barkeep said. "Take this to table three and then you can call it a night." He looked her up and down and shook his head, making a sort of 'yummy' sound. "Best thing I ever did, hiring you."

She leaned in and ran a finger under his chin. "Thanks, honey. Best for me too."

The big man gulped. She held the pose for a minute, tempted to pull her finger toward her to see if he drifted after it like that ancient cartoon character transported by the thought of a delicious treat. She let him loose and watched his jaw fall toward the counter. Picking up the tray, Uhura held it to one side and made her way through the crowd, flirting as she went. As it happened, table three was right next to where the black and white gunslinger had decided to take a seat.

Smiling at the men who had ordered the whiskeys she carried, she lifted them from the tray and placed them on the table. Then, without looking at the albino, she headed back to the bar. It wouldn't do to let him know she was interested, and he didn't look like the type that would play any sort of game. It was better to remain aloof and then let the captain know about him. If he posed any kind of threat – other than to the men in the Bucket – they'd soon find out.

Five minutes later the handsome Black woman left the back room of the bar and headed for the door. Night was falling and the fading sun painted the dusty path in front of the saloon orange-red. She'd just stepped off the boardwalk and into the street when she felt someone take hold of her arm.

"Mister, if you know what's good for you, I'd advise you let go," she said as she turned. Then, she fell silent.

It was the albino.

His crimson eyes were lit by a sort of immoral delight as if, like a child, he knew the secret to the game and she did not.

"I'll let go once I deliver my message," he said.

She held still. "Message?"

"Tell your captain, Curran Theron is here."

"Curran Theron. That's it?"

He nodded and did as he said. He let go.

"One more thing," Theron added as he backed into the shadows.

"What's that?" she challenged.

"He cannot win."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"I keep tellin' ya, there ain't no one in Virginia City answerin' to that there description! Are you _deef?"_

Montgomery Scot folded his arms over his tartan sash. "Arrre ye surre, Mon?" he asked, laying it on thick.

"Son, I been from one end of this here town to the other today, and there ain't no tall skinny maybe-Asian, maybe-not man with pointy eyebrows who speaks like a perfessor and is dressed all in black, nowhere no how!"

Scotty buried the smile the sheriff's description brought to his lips. Was that what he had said? Appearing to consider what the lawman had told him, he lowered his eyebrows and his voice. "Noo, ye arrre not pullin' my leg, arrre ye?"

Roy Coffee's pale eyes went to what lay just below the hem of his kilt. "I wouldn't take hold of one of those pale hairy legs of your'n if'n you _paid_ me!"

The Enterprise's engineer sputtered. "Pale! Skinny! Mon, I'll have ye know that those arrre the legs of a Scotsman and thereforrre, farrr betterrr than yours, ye wee sun-baked scantily bewhiskered mon!"

"Listen here," the sheriff countered. "I've half a mind to throw you into one of my cells for disturbin' _my_ peace! I got a lot of things to do to catch up." The lawman leaned on his desk and glared at him. "Now you go on and get outta here!" With that Roy Coffee turned and headed for the safe at the back of the room. "God must hate me," he muttered as he went. "Why I ever let Ben Cartwright talk me into comin' back to this here one-horse town, I don't know. And what 'd I _ever_ do to deserve this sort of thing at the end of the day?" He glanced back to see if the Scotsman had left.

He had not.

"Well, what're _you_ waitin' for?"

Scotty remained as he was, arms crossed. "Just admirrrin' the law at worrrk."

"For the love of Pete! I'm gettin' my keys and I'm goin' home, and..." He was working at the combination.

It wasn't working.

"Dag-nab it!"

"Could you use a _wee_ bit of help, Sheriff?" the engineer asked.

"I know enough to get my own safe open," he snapped, fiddling with the dial and listening to the tumblers. "Now what in _Sam Hill's_ wrong with this thing?"

"I'm handy with locks, if I do say so myself. Arrre you surrre you don't want me to take a look?"

Roy let out a sigh as big as the Ponderosa.

"Good!" Scotty said, smacking his hands together. "Out of my way, lad."

Leaning down he listened. Compared to the Enterprise security systems, opening an old-fashioned tumbler lock was like taking candy from a baby. Scotty worked it one way and then the other and then stood back as it clicked and opened.

And cooed with admiration.

Reaching into the safe he pulled out a bottle that sat next to the sheriff's keys. It carried the Rosebank label and was dated eighteen-forty-five. His eyebrows peaked as he asked, "Arrre you a Scotch drinkin' mon, then?"

The sheriff actually smiled. "It ain't worth drinkin' if it don't put hair on your chest." Roy Coffee's blue eyes crinkled. "Or on your legs, in your case."

Scotty blinked – and then roared. Picking up the sheriff's keys in his free hand, he crossed to the older man. He held both hands out, offering the keys – and the whiskey.

"Well, sheriff, which will it be? Arrre you going home to an empty house and a cold supperrr, or would you like to bet who can drrrink who under that therrre desk of yourrrs?"

Roy Coffee stared at him. He took the keys in his hand and tossed them toward the door.

The lawman thought a moment.

"Pull up your skirts, stranger, and take a seat. I'll get the glasses."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Kirk and McCoy rode hard and reached the rendezvous early. It was his hope that the others might do the same, but when they reached the halfway point between the Ponderosa and Virginia City there was no one there but Sulu.

"Any news of Mister Spock, Captain?" his helmsman asked.

Kirk answered even as he dismounted. "No. Nothing. You?"

"I was lucky. The Cartwright's cook was actually in town to visit his uncle. I was introduced as number thirty-one cousin," he laughed. "It's amazing how quickly I was accepted."

"Did you have any luck?" McCoy asked as he joined them.

He shook his head. "From what I can tell, Mister Spock never made contact with Hop Sing. The only strangers he remembered, and that was vaguely, were you two. Apparently you made him nervous all those years ago."

"That's it, then?"

"Well, there was one other thing. I don't know if it means anything."

"What's that?" Kirk asked.

"There was a ranch hand, came about that same time, in eighteen-sixty-four. He thought he was with you. Hop Sing said he looked like a devil.

"Why's that?" McCoy asked.

"From the description I would say he was an albino, Captain. It was the crimson eyes." Sulu grinned. "Hop Sing thought he was a human incarnation of a dragon."

"An albino?" the doctor asked. "In the West? Seems a strange place for a man with an aversion to light to settle." He paused. "Jim?"

Kirk nodded. "I remember him. His name was...Theron Vance. Remember, Bones, the man was with Joe Cartwright when the accident happened. The one that almost killed Joe."

Bones shrugged. "Vaguely," he said.

"We left before we found out what happened to him." Kirk's thoughts were whirling. He turned to Sulu. "Did Hop Sing say?"

Sulu shrugged. "Hop Sing said Vance turned into a dragon and flew away. I asked around. Apparently he worked for the Cartwrights for a short time and then disappeared."

"Jim," McCoy asked, "what are you doing?"

He was tapping his forehead, trying to force a memory to the fore. "Bones." Kirk looked up. "Bones. What was it you told me about that crewmember you passed in the hall before you found me in Spock's quarters?"

McCoy frowned. "You mean the one with anemia?"

Kirk nodded. "Could he have been an Albino?"

Bones considered it. "I didn't see him well. Just saw he was too pale." He shrugged. "Could have been. Is it important?"

He thought it might be.

"Do you think he's following us, Captain?" Sulu asked.

"Or preceding us," he said, his tone dark.

"I saw him too," a new voice added. "Just now, in the Bucket of Blood."

They turned to find Uhura had arrived. She moved forward with her usual determined stride, her silk skirts swishing. "Captain, a man fitting that description came into the Bucket just as my shift ended. He had a message for you."

Kirk's brows lifted. "For me?"

She nodded.

"What was it?"

"He said to tell you his name was 'Curran Vance' and..."

"Uhura?"

"That you cannot win."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Anne Cartwright had dismounted. Leaving Cochise behind, she followed the strangers who had visited the ranch house through the trees to their rendezvous. There were four of them now. It was obvious from what they said that they had been spying on the house and all of them but, for some reason, she didn't fear them. It seemed they were here to help. To help her, to help Ben.

To help Joe.

Drawing closer, she continued to listen to their conversation.

"Has anyone seen Scotty?" the blond man asked. "Sulu? Uhura?"

Both of them shook their heads. The Chinese man said, "The last time I saw him, Captain, he was with Sheriff Coffee."

 _Captain?_

The captain nodded. "Probably following a lead." He paused a moment and then went on. "We can't wait any longer. From what we understand, Joe Cartwright has disappeared. Maybe he's been taken. We have to get on the trail. Sulu?"

The Chinese man stepped forward. "Sir?"

"I want you and Uhura to go to the Ponderosa. Come up with a cover story. Sulu, you lean on being cousin number thirty-one and Uhura..."

The negro woman grinned. "And me? How do we explain me?"

Kirk eyed her. "In that get-up, I'm thinking maybe a traveling actress?" His gaze flicked to the Chinese man. "Sulu, you can be her servant."

The woman laughed. It was a magical sound. "That works."

"Keep a watch on the place. I understand Joe Cartwright has a wife. Whoever is behind this might try to take her, to make Joe do...whatever it is they want him to do."

Anne drew a breath. She hadn't thought of that – that her rash action might actually put Joe in _greater_ danger.

As the strangers continued to speak, Anne began to back away, intent on returning to Cochise. She was confused. What should she do? Everything that was in her screamed she needed to go after her husband, but, maybe...

Maybe, she should just go home.

When she reached Joe's horse, she paused to pat his neck. "Sorry, boy, that I ran you so hard. I think I made a mistake. I think – "

"You didn't make a mistake, my dear."

Anne started. She glanced around but saw no one. "Who?"

Without warning a white hand clamped over her mouth and a sinister voice whispered in her ear.

"You are precisely where I want you."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

THREE A 

Joe Cartwright groaned as he opened his eyes. At first he was confused because the ground seemed to be shaking beneath him. Then he realized he was in the bed of a wagon. It was painful to move, but he shifted anyhow, intent on sitting up. It was then he found he was trussed like a calf with both his arms and his legs bound. He couldn't see anything. There was a tarp thrown over him, probably to hide the fact that he was in the wagon. He closed his eyes against the pain and nausea consciousness had brought with it and tried to think. Where had he been? In the field, right? Working on the fence. Someone had been there other than him. Someone...

Deets.

And Carter and Brewer.

They'd beat the crap out of him.

Even as the memory of what happened flooded back, the wagon he was in jolted to a halt. He heard someone jump to the ground and then the tarp was thrown back flooding the wagon bed with light. Unaccustomed as his eyes were to the brightness, he winced and turned away even as a pair of powerful hands took hold of his shirt and dragged him up and out of the wagon.

A second later he was tossed to the ground.

Brewer had done it, but it was Carter who crouched beside him. The smaller man reached out with a gloved hand and took hold of his face and forced his head up.

"Are you ready to die, Cartwright?" he asked, a sneer curling his lips. "Because we're here."

Joe frowned. He couldn't see much past the small sneering man. Deets was there, watching with his dark brows drawn into a 'V' of disapproval.

"This is no way to treat a warrior," he said.

Carter pivoted. "I told you to holster your martial scruples, Deets. They make you and others like you weak."

The 'V' deepened and was accompanied by a growl. "How _dare_ you!"

Carter rose to his feet. He went toe to toe and forehead to chest with the bigger man. "Because _I_ am in charge and High Command will have your head – and _other_ parts of your anatomy – slowly and painfully removed one at a time if you disobey me." Carter turned slightly. "Brewer come here." Pivoting back he added, "You two get him up!"

Joe'd seen a panther laying in wait, biding his time, knowing that time would come.

That was the look Brewer had.

"Sir!" he spat.

Brewer took hold of him on one side and Deets on the other, and they drew him to his feet. It was all he could do to stand. The ropes had cut off the circulation in his feet. Tears flooded his eyes as they were forced to bear his weight, but he refused to cry out.

Carter was pacing before him. After a minute, he stopped and met his gaze. "Do you know where you are, Joseph Francis Cartwright?"

He hadn't really paid attention. He'd assumed they were somewhere in the woods beyond the Ponderosa. Now, looking, he realized it was unknown territory. There were few if any trees. Mostly it was rock and...

And a sign that read 'Bodie'.

Carter chuckled. " _Now_ , you get it. This is the end of the line for you, Cartwright."

Joe licked his lips. His voice cracked when he spoke. "Why?"

The look out of the man's eyes reminded him of a coiled snake about to strike. Carter drew closer and used that gloved hand to take hold of his chin and force him to meet his stare.

"You're going to die, Cartwright, and you're _never_ going to know."

There was a moment of silence into which Deets spoke. "This is not the way of our people or the code of the warrior. Release him! Let him _fight_ for his life." The imposing man paused. "He is a worthy opponent. Let him _die_ with honor."

"A death with 'honor' is not in the contract, or have you forgotten that Deets? If we want use of the manipulators beyond this, then we do what my people ordered us to do, which is cooperate with Curran. And _that_ is to leave Cartwright bound and gagged in the bottom of Bodie Mine with one of them on his wrist."

' _You have to be careful, Joe,'_ the ghostly Adam had said. _'They're coming for you. Whatever you do, don't go to Bodie.'_

Joe began to struggle. Death here, above ground, was preferable to one buried in complete darkness beneath the earth's surface, gasping for air. He fought hard, pulling against Brewer and Deet's strength in what he knew was a losing battle. If he could only make them mad enough – make them strike him so hard he'd never get up again. If only –

"Joe?"

The voice took him by surprise. He looked up and the world – stopped.

"Joe, I'm so sorry."

There was a man on a horse. Though it had been twelve years, he recognized him. It was the man who had come back from Virginia City with him close to twelve years before, the man who had stood by as a group of other men trailed him, bent on taking him for some unknown reason – the man who had calmly and quietly said –

 _You cannot escape._

Theron Vance was seated on Cochise, his crimson eyes laughing.

Anne was in his arms.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As Adam Cartwright galloped alongside Spock, he tried not to think about what they might find when they arrived at Bodie. In spite of everything they had done, it seemed nothing had changed.

Joe was still going to end up at the bottom of that _damn_ mine.

When he was at college he'd taken part in debates about the nature of time and joined in the speculation about whether or not, if one traveled into the past, he could change it. There were two schools of thought. The first said 'yes'. Man was not a creature out of control. He could choose his own destiny. But there was another school that said that time flowed just like a river and, inevitably, no matter how hard you fought against it, the rushing waters would pull you back to the same place.

He felt like he was drowning in time.

Spock had said little once they realized Joe was gone. The set of the Vulcan's jaw spoke the words that would not come. Spock was determined not to fail again like he had the first time. There had been that moment, the one he told him about, when Joe could have been saved. His little brother had embraced fear for just a second too long and that had been the end of him.

Could he – _would_ he be able to redirect that river? If it was his hand reaching out, _his_ voice calling, would Joe react fast enough? Could he snatch him from his fate?

From...death.

The sun had risen as they mounted their horses and began the thirty mile ride to Bodie. They had pushed the animals mercilessly until a sheen of foam coated their sides. Common sense dictated they stop to let them rest. If the horses keeled over and they had to continue on foot, it would do Joe no good. Still, like a racehorse at the gate, Adam champed at the bit, feeling each wasted second as the stab of a knife in his side. Was Joe in the mine yet? Was his brother still alive?

Or was he already buried under a ton of rock.

They were riding again now, moving forward. The sun was mounting the sky toward noon. They should be there soon and then he would know the truth. He'd _know_ if time could be rewound.

But did he want to?

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Curran Theron gestured to Deets. When the Klingon came forward, he ordered him to lift the woman from the saddle and place her on the ground. As Deets complied, albeit grudgingly, Theron dismounted and crossed to stand before the bound. The look out of Joe Cartwright's eyes was delicious. In it was a mingling of indignation, rage, and out and out fear. Theron closed his eyes, drawing in the sensation, feeding on it.

Enjoying it.

"You will not shout or attempt to get away, do you understand? Do so, and the woman dies instantly."

Cartwright nodded. "Let her go," he pleaded. "I'll do whatever you want."

Theron scoffed. "You will do what I want whether I let her go or not."

"If you harm her, I'll – "

"What?" the man with the crimson eyes queried. "Burst forth miraculously from your bonds and kill me? I think not. I think you've used up your quota of miracles," he scoffed. "My friend Deets knows how to secure an enemy. He has been schooled in every aspect of the art of war since he was old enough to walk."

The human's eyes were on the woman. "Let her go. Please."

The white-skinned, white-haired man, who was no man but one of the Originators simply said, "No."

Theron knew what was coming and he welcomed it. He'd witnessed in his many trips through time and space what kind of a man Joseph Cartwright was. Fury kindled in the rancher a strength that surpassed anything human – perhaps, anything _Klingon_. Bound as he was, the human struck out, ramming his shoulder into Brewer and breaking free of Deets' grip. His feet were still bound as were his hands. He _knew_ he couldn't do anything, but still, he was determined to try.

He failed, of course. Deets brought the handle of his nineteenth century weapon down on the back of Cartwright's head and dropped him at his feet.

As the woman softly sobbed, calling out for a man she would never touch again, Theron knelt at Joseph Cartwright's side. He took hold of that thick, curly silver and gray hair and lifted the human's head and looked into his dazed eyes.

"Your only child will be born on another world, in a place where the meaning of honor is not known. He will be reared among _my_ people and given power over time and space. And he will use it. In time his descendants will learn to use it too and then, instead of bringing order to the galaxy, the last of your line will bring chaos, _disorder_ , and destruction." Theron leaned in close. "Would you like to know his name, father of all that will come? Would you?"

Joe grunted, barely conscious.

"I will tell you what it is," he whispered.

"James...Tiberius...Kirk."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

James Tiberius Kirk sighed. He'd sailed the stars. In a way, he had conquered them. But now, when he needed to _own_ them and to make them work in his favor, they'd turned against him.

His horse had thrown a shoe.

"Jim. Here," McCoy said, thrusting the reins of his own mount toward him. "Take mine. I'll follow as soon as I can."

"Bones, I don't want to leave you out here alone."

"What are you worryin' about? I'll be just fine," the Georgia doctor drawled. "I'm a tough old bird. There isn't an animal within a hundred miles would want to take a bite out of me."

Kirk scowled. "It's not the four-footed kind I'm worried about."

McCoy sobered. "Jim, we can't know for sure, but I just think there's no time to lose. And somehow, I think when you find Joe Cartwright that you'll find Spock too." His friend hesitated. " _They_ need you. I can get by without you."

"Oh, you can, can you?"

McCoy shrugged. "I'll manage. Scotty's bound to be along soon."

Kirk frowned. In all the excitement he had forgotten about his engineer. "What do you suppose is keeping him?"

The doctor snorted. "I'm laying odds on the Bucket of Blood. That is, if they have Scotch behind that counter." McCoy approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Really, Jim. _Go_. That young man needs you."

Kirk nodded, giving in. "Head back to the Ponderosa. Find Sulu and Uhura and all of you stay put. Between Spock and Joe Cartwright, I've got enough to worry about."

"God speed, Jim."

As McCoy began to lead his lame horse back the way they had come, Kirk leapt into the saddle of the doctor's mount and settled in. He'd been surprised to find just how natural it felt, how _at home_ he felt on a horse. He knew there were adventurers and trailblazers in his past, and knew as well that much of what he was had been written in his genetic code long before he was born. He wondered now if there was a cowboy or two, or maybe a land baron like Ben Cartwright in the mix.

Or someone like his son.

Gripping the reins tightly, the blond man signaled to the tired animal that he expected him to ride like the wind. The horse must have had some trailblazers in his past as well. It snorted and stamped the ground, and then sprinted forward in a nineteenth century equivalent of Warp Four.

Kirk snorted too and, leaning forward close over the saddle, relished the wind in his hair.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe struggled without success against the two men who dragged him ever close to the mine's entrance. He'd kept his gaze locked on his wife's as long as he could. He wanted to tell Anne _so_ much – that he loved her, that he would do _everything_ he could do to survive and return to her and their child.

That he would throttle the bastards who threatened them with his bare hands if given a chance.

She'd looked so small, so helpless, so – _lost_ – standing there. He heard some of the words Theron spoke after Deets had bashed him in the head. What he heard hadn't really made sense. The trouble was, he didn't know if his head was so muddled from the blow that he misunderstood them, or if the Albino was mad and _actually_ thought he could travel through time and space. It made him think of that book Adam had read to them one snowy winter called, 'The Last Man'. He'd had a hard time following it, and had slept through more of it than been awake, but he remembered it talked about a far flung future where men traveled in airships and had become so full of pride that they challenged God.

' _Remember what the Good Book says, Joseph, Pride goes before destruction',_ he heard his Pa say in his head. _A man who believes he knows more than God is doomed to failure.'_

He had to hold onto that _._ Had to believe it was _not_ happening again. He didn't care what happened to him, but he _couldn't_ lose Anne and the baby, not the way he had Alice and his first child. God couldn't _be_ so cruel, so...heartless. This time it had to be him. If someone died, it had to be _him_. He couldn't survive it again, just couldn't.

His Pa's voice returned. This time quoting Jeremiah.

' _For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future._ '

Humbled, he prayed silently as the dark open maw of Bodie Mine claimed him, 'God, give Anne and the baby a hope and a future. If you have to take someone, take me. Please, God, please, let them live. But whatever God, whatever..." The tears were flowing down his cheeks freely now.

"Thy will be done."

Once inside Deets untied his feet and chafed them to return the circulation. It was pointless. He wasn't going to walk to his own death. So far he'd refused to aid them in _any_ way. His defiance had brought about another beating – this time from Brewer – during which the two men holding him had had a heated exchange in a language he didn't know.

Deets forced him up, Brewer took his other arm and they began to drag him again. As he was hauled along what seemed at least a mile of rough tunnel floor, Joe closed his eyes and tried to gather his strength. If they eventually left him alone there might be a slim chance he could escape – maybe work his way deeper into the mine and find another exit. If he was going to try, he had to rest, had to save what little strength he...had...

When his body jolted against the floor, Joe moaned and opened his eyes. It shamed him to realize he'd fallen unconscious. His head was throbbing from the beating and the blow to the head he'd taken and the pain was casting tiny flecks of light on the mine walls. Joe closed his eyes and opened them again. It was then he realized the light wasn't in his head. It was real and was advancing toward them. His vision was blurry so he couldn't be sure, but he thought it was Carter, carrying a lantern. As the light grew brighter, Joe began to shiver, not with fear but from the cold. This far down into the mine the temperature had dropped. It felt like the inside of a spring-fed cooling room. Brewer snorted, deriding him as his teeth began to chatter.

When Carter halted before him, Joe saw he was wearing his green. That jacket was warm. Carter must have been cold. "Bring him!" Carter surprised him by ordering.

And then they continued on.

He didn't know how long they traveled this time. As they moved along the primitively hewn corridor Joe lost all awareness of it, of where he was and where he had been. Life became one long descent. Here and there sputtering torches, their flames starved for oxygen, lit the way. He'd been in mines before. He knew what that meant. They were taking him deep – _very_ deep. So deep it was unlikely anyone would find him.

This mine was going to be his grave.

They'd traveled another five minutes or so when Carter called a halt. Joe had ceased struggling by that time, his head wound finally lulling him into a state of semi-consciousness where nothing existed but echoing footsteps, the scent of smoke, and the remembrance of light.

"Release him," Carter ordered.

Four hands obeyed. Twenty fingers opened. He fell to the cave floor again and lay there unmoving. Above him there was a burst of light. Into it came a pale sneering face.

"Does the condemned man have any last words?"

He was out of energy, but he found enough to do one last thing.

Spit in the man's face.

Joe tensed. He knew it was coming. Out of the dark came a hand with something hard clamped around the wrist. Whatever it was, it struck him in the side of the head.

In a blur of lightly tanned skin, red pain and green cloth, the lights went out.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As he fought against Spock's Vulcan strength, Adam both hated and admired the man for his ability to control his emotions. It gave Spock an edge, but it also made him one of the coldest bastards he had ever known.

"That's my kid brother they're dragging down into that _Hell_ hole! _Let me go!"_

"Adam," the Vulcan said as he easily restrained him, his tone even and unperturbed, "listen to me. _This has happened before._ The Originator, Curran Theron, is a man of compulsion, driven to assure that his plan for the future of this galaxy unfolds as _he_ demands. He has a time in mind for your brother's destruction. It is not now. Nothing will happen until it is."

"How do you know things haven't changed? You yourself said _I_ am the random element. _I_ was not here before. Maybe my very presence has altered what happened." His jaw was clenched, his words were breathed more than spoken. "Did you consider that?"

The look Spock gave him was almost comical – _would_ have been if things had not been so desperate. "I have considered all options and concluded there would be no rational reason for Theron to alter his plans. The odds are fifty-two-point three-five to forty-seven-point-seven-five that the Originatoris not aware of your presence."

Adam gripped the cloth covering Spock's chest and shook him. "I'm not betting my little brother's life on fifty-fifty odds!"

"Fifty-two-point- "

" _Damn_ it, Spock!" he swore, pushing the Vulcan back. "Too much can go wrong! We have to get down there. We have to get close to Joe before..." Adam paused. His gaze went to the Albino. Theron stood beside a wagon. They'd just watched him force a bound and gagged woman into it a moment before. "We have to get to Joe _before_ they blow that mine."

"Again you forget, Adam Cartwright, that I have been here before," the Vulcan said, shifting to stand beside him where he could watch Theron's movements. "The man named Carter will return in one-point-two minutes and together he and Theron will move off into the trees, leaving Deets as guard and Brewer to set the explosives. This will take approximately forty-two-point-three minutes including the trip for Brewer both down and back to the surface. There is a separate entry leading to the place where your brother is being held that can be navigated in twenty-point-two, leaving a window of opportunity of twenty-two-point-one minutes in which to rescue Joseph and return with him to the surface. If he had not fought me, I would have been able to free him the first time I was here and to escape with him before the charges went off." Spock paused. "This time, you are with me. He should have no objection to following you."

Adam drew in a breath. "There's only one problem with your theory."

The Vulcan's right eyebrow tipped up. "Indeed. And what is that?"

Joe's brother indicated the mine entrance with a nod.

"It's been three minutes and Carter's not back."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Kirk had pushed his horse so hard the animal had finally given out and he'd been forced to abandon it by the side of the road. Now, he was running.

There was no time to lose.

Spock had often remarked on his 'hunches', almost but not quite dismissing their possibility. He'd lived with them his entire life and knew they had nothing to do with logic or anything else that made sense, but were intuitive leaps based on an inner 'gut' feeling. He didn't really understand where they came from either. He'd tried to convince himself they were based on cumulative experience. but that fell flat. He'd had them when he was a boy before he _had_ any experience. One day he'd asked his mother about it and she'd told him that it was something passed down from generation to generation in her family. It was this genetically-driven keen insight that had made the men in their family what they were and caused them to succeed where others failed.

Whatever it was – hunch, insight, or intuition – it was screaming now that he had to reach that mine and reach it _soon_.

As he ran, sprinting forward like an Olympiad, a wry smile parted his lips. It hadn't been all that long since he'd fought like a Klingon _targ_ against Bones' orders that he devote extra time to his physical training. His friend had lifted his eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest at the end of his last exam – where he'd been ten pounds overweight – and refused to listen to his excuses that he had no time, that there were other more important things he had to do, that – for God's sake! – all he did was sit in a chair all day and issue orders, and what the _Hell_ did he need to be able to outrun a _sehlat_ for?

Thanks to Bones, he was barely winded.

He'd passed a sign to the mine about a mile back. Now he was beginning to see signs of habitation; small huts, tents, and the like. They were empty. Autumn was here and winter was fast approaching and it seemed the mine, which at this time in its history was unproductive when compared to other richer strikes in the area, had shut down for the season. He was still puzzled by why Theron had brought Joe _here_. Why not just kill the youngest of Ben's sons outright if that was what he intended to do? No, there was more going on here than simple murder. There was a reason, at least in the Albino's mind, that Joe Cartwright had to die at the bottom of that mine.

A reason he wished to _Hell_ he knew. Though maybe he was over-thinking it. Maybe Theron was simply insane and Joe's death in that mine - and the discovery of an alien artifact in the future - was just his sick way of saying to the galaxy, 'Theron was here.'

Kirk skidded to a halt when he saw a light appear in the distance. He stood, panting, catching his breath for a moment, and then advanced forward stealthily. There were two men standing outside the mine's entrance. One was Theron. He recognized him by his white hair and pale skin. He was dressed like a gunfighter. The other man wore a long black coat over his pants and shirt. There was a familiar look about him. He was a little dark and a lot wild-looking and would have been counted as a giant in this time. There was something about the way he held himself and the cast of his eyes he'd seen before.

Where...?

The blond man's sharp mind rolled back through all the faces he had seen since joining Starfleet. It finally stopped and recognition clicked into place. Deep Space Station K7. The one with the tribbles.

And a ship full of devious, lightly-tanned, round-eared Klingons.

Kirk moved closer so he could see better. Theron had moved away from the wagon. There was someone in its bed. He couldn't tell if it was Joe, but it made sense that it was. He'd just determined to slip into the trees on that side of the mine when he sensed as much as saw something move in the shadows to his right. The blond man stopped, his hand resting on the rough hide of a tree. It wasn't one but _two_ men. They were heading _away_ from the cave's entrance, going around...

Kirk stiffened.

One of them was Spock.

Almost as if sensing his scrutiny the Vulcan halted and turned his way. A second later, he was gone.

Kirk hesitated, unsure of his course. Should he follow his long absent and somewhat errant first officer and confront him, or rescue whoever was in the wagon? While the Vulcan's recent actions were a mystery to him, he knew in his heart that Spock would never betray him or the Enterprise and that, while he might not agree with his methods, his friend undoubtedly had a logical reason for everything he had done.

When it came down to it, he either trusted Spock or he didn't.

This time, he chose to trust.


	11. Chapter 11 (Part Two Chapter Four)

FOUR

Adam Cartwright stared down a long, dark, nearly vertical shaft. It was barely more than shoulder-width, though he suspected it widened as it cut into the mountainside that contained the mine. He'd seen this kind of exploratory shaft before. It had most likely been cut early-on in Bodie's development to allow preparatory access. Now it led to the medium-sized chamber where Joe was being held. In his initial trip to eighteen-seventy-six, Spock had discovered it and used it to reach Joe just as Theron's man ignited the charge to bring the mountain down on top of his brother. Sadly, Joe had been injured – struck in the head and not thinking clearly – and his reactions had been slow. His brother's ability to think had been hampered and his choices dictated by fear.

He could hear it in Spock's voice. The sense of failure, the _guilt_. The Vulcan's fingers had brushed Joe's. Then he'd lost him and Joe had...died. His brother had died suffocated in darkness and buried under a ton of rubble.

Alone.

Well, _not_ this time.

Adam swung his legs up and into the shaft. Spock caught his arm before he could descend. "You have fifteen-point-five minutes in which to extricate your brother before the setting of the explosives is complete. You must both be in the shaft before they are detonated or you will be trapped within the mine. If Carter is there still, you will have to overcome him before you will be able to flee." Spock paused. "You remember Qo'noS?"

Adam nodded.

"That is Carter's home planet, despite the dissimilarity of facial features and coloring to the people you saw there. He is of a race that is reared to violence, whose actions are controlled only by their own questionable sense of honor. You must beware."

"What are _you_ going to do?"

Spock glanced to the left. "I will endeavor to free the woman and to overcome the one who holds her. It is obvious she is someone of importance to your brother. My calculation would be that she is his wife."

Adam still could hardly believe it. Joe. Married. It had almost happened so many times in the past that he guessed he had assumed it would never _actually_ happen.

As Adam caught the top of the shaft with his fingertips and began to lower himself into it, he glanced at Spock who was now nothing more than a single lean shadow within the greater bulk of shadows cast by the mountain.

Then he began to slide.

Ben Cartwright sat in the darkness of the great room after the two strangers departed, feeling completely useless and out of control – for about fifteen minutes. Then he sprang to his feet and, damning old age and infirmity to _Hell_ , put on his gun belt, wrapped a coat around his diminished frame and placed his hat on his head before aiming straight as an arrow shot from the bow toward the stable. Once inside he crossed to Buck and patted him on the nose, telling him he was sorry to be taking one of the younger horses, but what he needed tonight was not certainty and experience as much as raw, reckless energy.

Kirk and McCoy already had a half-hour's head start.

Moving farther into the stable he watched a pair of young freshly broken horses stamp and snort and toss their manes, ready for action. He chose a beautiful high-spirited Appaloosa he'd watched run like the wind only a few days before. Of course, Joseph had his eye on him. After all, his youngest son and the animal had a lot in common. Anne had watched with both admiration and fear as her husband worked to break the animal, barely managing to keep his seat.

It was only fit that this would be the one to bear his son home.

Saddling the horse took longer than Ben would have liked. By the time he left the barn nearly an hour had passed. As he walked the Appaloosa out, ready to depart, he saw that it was going to take even longer. The white-haired man drew in a breath and held it. He really didn't have the energy for a fight.

Hop Sing was waving his arms and running toward him.

"Mister Ben! Mister Ben! Do not go, Mister Ben!"

Ben checked his ride. "Hop Sing, I'm not in the mood to argue –"

"Hop Sing no want to argue. Hop Sing wish go with you!"

He shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, Hop Sing." And he really did. But he needed to fly like the wind and, while his longtime friend was a fair rider, there was no way the Chinese man could keep up. "But I need to be on my way _now_." He turned and looked in the direction the two men had gone. "I may already be too late."

"Hop Sing come. Bring wagon. Maybe need for Little Joe or for Mrs. Joe."

Ben almost missed it. Then he snapped to attention. "Mrs. Joe?"

A soft worried woman's voice spoke from out of the dark. "Anne's gone too, Ben," Carrie Pickett said as she stepped off the porch. "I think that child got a notion in her head to go after Joe."

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "What was Anne thinking?"

The older woman's smile was sad. "Only about the man she loves."

Ben considered their options and then nodded. "Hop Sing, have Carrie help you pack the wagon with blankets, medicals supplies, and some food and water. Follow me when you can. I am going to track those two strangers and I have no idea where the trail will lead me."

Hop Sing caught hold of the Appaloosa's reins. "You be careful Mister Ben. No want find you in need of wagon too."

He nodded. "Thank you, Hop Sing." Ben looked at Anne's mother. "Carrie?" he called.

"Yes?"

"Help Hop Sing. And try not to worry. I'll bring the children home."

She raised a hand. "I'm right sure you will, Ben."

He started to move and then halted and turned back. "One more thing."

Carrie came to stand beside Hop Sing, her pale eyes determined _and_ afraid. "What is it?"

Ben's eyes misted.

"Pray."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Spock remained where he was and watched Adam Cartwright descend into the darkness like Earth's mythic Hermes in pursuit of Persephone. He'd had little time to spare to consider the possible ramifications of the introduction of this random element into the equation. Things were happening too quickly and they were unfolding in a slightly parallel line to what had happened before. The first time he had walked this path Carter had returned to the surface to reconnoiter with Theron, leaving Joseph Cartwright alone. The fact that the man from Klingon Intelligence had not this time suggested either a betrayal of Theron on Carter's part, or a successful attempt by their victim to overcome his captors. In either scenario, both Adam and Joseph Cartwright should be able to make their way to the surface unimpeded unless someone else intervened.

Therefore, the most expedient thing he could do was to make certain Curran Theron was removed from the equation.

From what he had been able to learn, Curran Theron was an Originator – one of the race that had built the Guardian of Forever and created the gateway to time that it was. The Originators were sworn to non-interference. The Guardian was meant to be a tool with which man would observe and record history, not seek to alter it. As a youth Theron had been one of the best and brightest of his people, but he had grown discontent with their guiding principle. He saw non-interference as weakness. Curran Theron believed that the Guardian should be employed to meddle. He believed that, instead of bringing order and peace to the galaxy, its – and his – purpose was to open a door to chaos and disorder.

Since he, Doctor McCoy, and Jim Kirk had passed through the Guardian into time before, their past and present were clearly written there in three intersecting lines. The rogue Originator had stumbled across these lines. Studying them, he had come to a conclusion. There was a man within them whose life could be altered, turning him from an agent of law and order to one of chaos and disorder, thereby changing history.

James T. Kirk

Spock blew out the breath he didn't know he held.

He had seen some of these images himself. He'd watched as Jim's ancestors came to America as explorers, and how they had opened up the young country's western region, leaving paths behind them for others to follow. There were so many lives, so many bold choices, all leading to one man – one man in whom all of these characteristics would find ultimate completion. A man of determination and drive who feared nothing, who at times appeared reckless, but was in reality preternaturally certain that no matter what he did that it would come out right. A man of checks and balances, one whose anger was tempered by compassion; whose high sense of justice was married with a sense of honor that would not suffer wrong. A man, Spock thought, whose gut feelings outstripped logic.

Joseph Francis Cartwright. Benjamin Cartwright's youngest son.

There had been good men before, and there would be others after him in the captain's lineage. But Adam's young brother was the fixed point upon which the man who would be James T. Kirk hung.

And Theron had determined to destroy him.

The Originators had created the time manipulators for their own purpose and pleasure. They were mobile devices attuned to the Guardian's thoughts, that employed the Guardian's power. Never interfering, they used them to move through time, observing and watching as nascent races rose and fell, lives were lived and ended, and worlds were born and died.

In time the Originators grew cold and indifferent, as unfeeling as the waves of time they rode. It was at this time in their history that Curran Theron was born. As he grew, Theron determined he would be nothing like those who had gone before him. He would use the power of the Guardian _to_ interfere, to change time and make the galaxy into a place that fit with his own twisted sense of right and wrong.

Curran Theron was quite mad.

And in that madness he had fixated on Joseph Cartwright. The Originator had studied the rancher, gleaning from the eddies and waves of time shown to him by the Guardian that Joseph and his son were all he needed. Theron determined the time when the rancher's son would be conceived and then traveled back to eighteen-seventy-six - before the boy was born - with the intention of killing Joseph, so he could father no other sons. He would then take Anne, his wife, and their child away with him. He meant to rear the boy and make him into the father of disorder. James T. Kirk as he was known would not be there to stop Gary Mitchell from reaching out and destroying universes, or to call out the godlike boy Trelane and stop his devastating childish pranks. Charlie X would be free to vent his anger on the universe as well and Captain Kirk - Jim Kirk whose intuitive leaps had saved the lives of thousands - would not be there to stop the Horta's children from being hunted to extinction, prompting their peaceful mothers to start an intergalactis war that would devastate worlds.

Instead, Joe's seed would develop into one of the most destructive forces in all of time and space.

James Tiberius Kirk with no conscience.

Spock stirred. Time was passing. He had lost one point-nine-minutes to idle speculation. He had noted of late that his thoughts were slightly disjointed. His calculations and logic slowed. The Vulcan knew it was the influence of the venom that had been introduced into his system three times now as he used the manipulator.

After the next two times he would join Curran Theron.

He would go mad.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It had taken everything in Ben not to push the thoroughbred to a gallop. He knew the animal would grow exhausted quickly if he did. Instead he moved forward at a steady trot.

Still, it was nearly impossible to ignore the fear _deep_ inside that drove him.

The two strangers had headed southeast. The trail would take him into California soon, and into a low mountain range. He knew the area. It was dotted with mines, most of which were barely able to sustain their existence. Ben tried to remember which might still be operating. He could only recall one. Ten years after Sutter's Mill a group of four prospectors had made a rich strike in those hills. The mine was named after W. S. Bodey, one of the four, for the absurd reason that Bodey had perished that winter in a blizzard and never made it back. A sign painter had misspelled the man's name and it had stuck, and soon the town of Bodie – and the mine of the same name – became reality.

Bodie called to him. He was sure it was there he would find his son.

Gently nudging his mount to put out a little more speed, Ben moved quickly forward. The road he was traveling was two-pronged. One path started near the Ponderosa and the other just outside of Virginia City. They ran in a parallel fashion for some time and then converged and crossed over into California at its southernmost border. He was nearly there now. If he calculated right, riding at full tilt through the night, with a change of horse, he should arrive at the mine early the next day. Hop Sing would be following close behind with the supplies. He could only pray the Chinese man would find his way.

He had a feeling they would be _needing_ those supplies.

Just as he reached the place where the two paths came together like the rods of a witching stick, Ben heard the pounding of horses' hooves. He halted and listened. It was a party of at least a half-dozen by the sound of it. With no cover to take, Ben drew his gun and a breath and waited as the strike of hooves grew louder and the riders appeared .

When he saw who was at the head of the party, he let the breath out in a relieved sigh.

"Ben! What in _Sam Hill_ are you doing out here?" Roy Coffee inquired as he drew alongside him and reined his mount in. "Why ain't you at the Ponderosa?"

"I'm looking for Joe. I'm afraid –"

"Now, if that don't beat all. That's just what we're up to. Ain't it, Montgomery?"

As Roy spoke, he turned to look at the stranger who had come up alongside the lawman. The newcomer was of moderate build, with dark hair and intense eyes – and wearing a kilt! Beside him was another man, dressed much the same as Hop Sing, and behind _that_ man there was a beautiful negro woman attired as an actress or maybe a dance hall girl.

"Mister Cartwright," the man said, revealing himself by both tongue and dress to be a Scot, "you dinnae know me and hae no reason to trust me, but believe me when I tell you we're here to help find your son."

When Roy saw the look on his face, he chuckled. "I didn't quite know what to think of Montgomery either, Ben, but I _can_ tell you this. If a man holding his liquor is any sign of character, he's got it in spades!"

"Mister Cartwright. My name is Nyota Uhura," the beautiful woman said as she nudged her horse forward. "My friends and I... From what we have been able to determine from hearsay and rumor in the town, a band of men have taken your son into California. We have a friend who is missing as well, sir. We think he might be with Joseph. If you will have us, we would like to join with you and offer our help."

Ben met and held Nyota's dark eyes. He read no deception in them, only concern and resolve.

The decision took less five heartbeats. Ben nodded. He turned then to Roy. "I believe they took Joe to the Bodie Mine."

Roy looked skeptical. "You got a reason for thinkin' that, Ben?"

He hesitated. A slight smile quirked his lips. "No."

Roy pulled at his chin. "But you're sure anyhow?"

He nodded.

The Asian man beside Nyota looked at her and grinned. "He sounds like Captain Kirk, doesn't he?"

Ben stiffened. " _Jim_ Kirk?"

Montgomery Scott answered for them all. "Aye, sir. James T. Kirk. He's one of the men whot we're lookin' for."

There was something here, something...

Perhaps an answer to prayer.

"He's the man I'm following," Ben replied. "Kirk, and Doctor McCoy."

A slow smile spread across the Scot's face. "Well, why didn't ye say so before? What are we waitin' for then?"

"Nothin' I know of," Roy said. "Ben?"

Looking from one to the other, Ben knew he had four sure souls at his side.

Now, if they were only in time.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was like going back into the womb. Adam finished his descent down the shaft and into the mine with a short drop and a tumble to the floor. He righted himself and then stepped back and pressed up against the clammy cavern wall, anchoring himself so he could find balance in the complete and total darkness.

Only it wasn't complete.

The black-haired man realized there was an unnatural pallid glow off to his left, some one hundred feet or more away. In spite of his need for haste, he waited until his eyes adjusted before moving. It was going to be difficult enough to navigate the mine's floor without making a false step or sound and he knew he could do it better if he could at least _pretend_ to himself that he could see. Spock had warned him Carter might still be down here. He was hoping the Vulcan was wrong. Maybe the light was something left with Joe, like a lantern.

But no, that would indicate that there was some small shred of compassion in the black souls of his brother's kidnappers and he knew better.

Half-crouching, half-walking, Adam approached the area with the light. He halted behind a large stalagmite and used it for cover. Even with the light it was hard to see, but there _were_ two men – one standing, holding a gun, and the other on the ground. As the man with the gun shifted and stepped back into the range of the light, a smile broke across Adam's face. He couldn't see his face, but he could see the bright green jacket he wore and the gray pants.

Joe must have turned the tables on Carter and had the upper-hand.

Relieved, Adam rose and stepped in front of the pillar of rock. "Joe! Joe, thank God! I was afraid you were..."

Adam's voice trailed off as the man pivoted to face him and a slow sneer twisted his tightly compressed lips.

It wasn't Joe.

Something woke him. A voice? Yeah, that was it. Big brother'd called his name. He must have overslept again and Adam was hopping mad that he wasn't up and doing his chores. Joe shifted and frowned both at the pain he felt and at the cold hard surface he was laying on. What'd he done? Fallen asleep in the barn after a fight? Or maybe he'd had one of _those_ nightmares, the kind where he'd roll out of bed and wake up on the floor. It took a lot to pry his eyes open, but he managed it. When he did, he realized his second thought had been right.

It was a nightmare.

Vance's cohort, Carter, was standing over him. He was wearing his green jacket, which confused him. Had he put it on because of the cold? Carter was holding a gun and pointing it at...who? Joe squinted and frowned. He couldn't make the other man out. Whoever it was had dark hair and was dressed all in black. The man and Carter were arguing. Joe tried to listen to what they were saying, but the pounding in his head drowned most all of it out. All he managed to catch was a word here and there.

 _...Cartwright_

 _...die here_

 _...No_

 _...my brother_

Did Carter have a brother?

 _He_ did.

No, he _had_. Both of them were dead.

Worse than the pain in his head and chest, that realization made Joe moan.

A swift kick in the side silenced him.

The newcomer shouted and his angry words reverberated through the chamber, bouncing from one wall to the other and along the corridor leading to a surface world that was now lost to him. In response came more words – not from Carter or the man he held the gun on – but from that world above.

"Carter! Five minutes... ...detonation! Get...here!"

"I know. Watch...one while...finish."

Joe forced his eyes open again and looked up. Carter's attention was focused on the stranger and not on him. He didn't have a clue who the other man was, but if the bastard who had taken him and whose companions were holding his wife hostage was his enemy, then that meant they were friends.

And friends looked out for one another.

Adam remained riveted to the spot, his thoughts flying fast and furious. Carter and his gun stood between him and Joe. He knew this scenario was different from the one Spock had described, where the Vulcan had been the one who crawled down the shaft to rescue his brother. But that didn't mean that it might not end up the same way, with both of them trapped by a rock slide, only this time it would be the skeletons of _both_ he and Joe the man from the future would find with the Originator's bracelets on their wrist.

At that thought, Adam's hazel eyes flicked to Joe. He let out a small hopeful sigh. His brother's hands were tied in front of him. There _was_ no bracelet on Joe's wrist.

Yet.

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In spite of the pain pounding through him, which signaled infection and made him want to cry out, Joe managed to keep his eyes closed and remain still – even when he heard another man join them. Whoever it was, was shouting, screaming at Carter that it was time to ' _Get out!'_ The sneering man must have listened. All of a sudden he felt someone loose the ropes binding his hands. Seconds later they took hold of one of his chafed wrists.

Joe opened his eyes a slit. It was Brewer, not Deets who stood nearby.

"What are you doin?" he demanded.

"Putting the manipulator on Cartwright here," Carter growled as he snapped the bracelet open. "It's in the contract. Kahless alone knows why."

"Hurry it up." Brewer was nervous, and why shouldn't he be? If the explosive detonated it would bring the whole mountain down on all of them.

Joe looked once again at the stranger Brewer held at gunpoint. Whoever it was, his black-swathed body was tense. He looked like a stallion ready to make a break for freedom.

The curly-headed man drew in a breath. It really didn't matter who the man was. In any case, the enemy of an enemy is a friend.

Without letting the breath out, Joe bunched his legs up and kicked out, taking Carter in the chest and driving him back into the nearby cavern wall where he struck his head on an outcropping and fell motionless to the ground.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Good old Joe!

Adam had seen his brother moving and knew what to expect. They'd done the same thing many times before, not only to escape danger but to toss their brother Hoss laughing to the ground. Even as a twinge of regret stabbed him, thinking of the brother he could _not_ save, Adam lunged forward to save the one he still had. The man who had come to warn Carter had turned toward the commotion, so the gun was aimed away from him now. Adam struck the Klingon's arm and drove the weapon out of his hand and then crashed with him to the ground. Brewer's strength was amazing. He was twice as strong as Hoss. While he struggled with Brewer, Adam glanced at the man Joe had taken out. Carter had regained consciousness. He was rising, reaching for the abandoned gun.

It would only take him a second to shoot Joe. He had to do something.

As panic seized him Adam's eyes landed on the lantern. If it was extinguished the playing field would be leveled. No one could see and no one would have an advantage. Maneuvering Carter's companion into position, Adam struck out with his foot and drove him into it. The lamp turned over, rolled –

And went out.

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In complete darkness Joe listened the to the scuffle. There was an 'oof' and then someone hit the ground. Seconds later someone else began to run, up the passageway, up toward the surface and safety even as a voice called again that it was time to get out – that the charge would go off any minute.

Joe's hands were unbound now and so he used them to right himself, and then worked his way to his feet using the wall as a prop. The cavern was absolutely black. 'Stygian', Adam would have called it, using one of those fancy words he got from the books he loved so. Joe could hear a man breathing hard. Assuming it was the one in black rather than Brewer who'd probably fled like the coward he was, he followed the sound and stumbled toward him.

It surprised him when halfway there the man caught him in a bear hug.

"Joe," he breathed, his voice breaking with emotion. "Joe." Then, a second later. "We have to get out of here. The mine's about to blow."

The man caught him then about the waist and directed him away from the path Brewer had taken. Joe's feet skidded on the mud-covered floor.

"Where...where are...you going? The way...out is –"

"There's another way, Joe. A shorter route to the surface."

He put on the brakes. Though his strength was ebbing, he managed to pull away. "Whoa... Why...should I trust you?"

There was a silence, so profound it made the darkness deeper, thicker, more suffocating.

"Joe," the man said, breath in the words, "it's me. Adam. Your brother."


	12. Chapter 12 (Part Two Chapter Five)

FIVE

James T. Kirk stared at the space Spock's departure had left for maybe a minute and then made his way through the underbrush and positioned himself to the left and behind the wagon. Once in place he quickly realized that the occupant of the wagon had not been Joe Cartwright, but his wife, Anne. She'd been lifted from its bed and was standing by it now, her cries for her husband's release piercing the air.

Joe was _in_ the mine.

From his vantage point Kirk watched the altered Klingons come and go. The one called Deets, a giant of a Klingon warrior, had completed the task of placing the explosive charges in the mine and was standing about thirty feet away, awaiting the order to set it off. The blond man looked up at the massive pile of rock.

When he did, half the mountain would come down on those inside.

He'd been watching Deets. It was clear the Klingon held Theron in contempt, and that he would rather bury Carter under a ton of rubble than Joe. Kirk had a suspicion that Carter was Klingon Intelligence rather than a part of their vast military organization. The small, sneering man reminded him far too much of Darvin, the small _sniveling_ man who had wrecked so much havoc on Space Station K7.1

The blond man reprimanded himself. None of that mattered now. What mattered was that Joe Cartwright was going to die within minutes if he didn't somehow prevent Deets from triggering that explosion.

The problem was Anne Cartwright. There was no way he could protect her. If he took on Theron, Deets posed a threat and vice versa. He simply couldn't be in two places at once.

It was then Kirk saw Spock again. His wayward first officer appeared briefly, directly to the right of Theron, exposing himself just long enough to let him know he was there. Jim frowned. He wondered why Spock was not attempting to rescue Joe, since that had seemed to be the Vulcan's mission all along. Then he remembered there had been another man with Spock. He made a leap and suddenly knew it was Adam Cartwright. Adam was with Joe in the mine.

Spock, like him, was looking to stop the explosion that would doom them both.

Jim did likewise, exposing himself by stepping out of the shadows for just a moment and then ducking back. Theron seemed unaware of them both. The Albino stood with his back to Spock, holding Joe's wife fast. Theron's lips curled in a sneer as he pivoted, angling the terrified woman toward the mine's gaping maw.

He was going to make her watch.

Outraged, Jim rose up, meaning to go for Theron's throat. As he did Spock shook his head. The Vulcan held his gaze for a heartbeat or two, again asking for his trust, and then disappeared. A moment later a pale hand hovered over Theron's shoulder. The Vulcan applied pressure and the man dropped.

As his first officer stepped out of the trees to take charge of Anne who was silently sobbing, Kirk did the same and headed for Deets. He saw the Klingon rear back in recognition. The massive warrior looked at the detonator in his hand. He hesitated, as if debating whether or not to complete the order he had been given since the one who issued it was lying flat on his face. Whether it was the desire to create a smokescreen for his escape, or simple military training, Kirk would never know.

It didn't really matter, after all.

All that mattered at that moment was the signal passing through the air from the detonator to the explosives in the tunnel.

A signal he could do _absolutely_ nothing to stop.

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"Joe, come on. Trust me. You have to trust me. We're out of time!" Adam pleaded. He couldn't see his little brother, but he could hear him breathing heavily.

"You...can't...be Adam...," he argued. "Adam's...dead."

"I'm not dead, Joe. I'm here. I'm _alive_." He thought furiously. How could he convince him? "Joe, remember back when you were a kid. That time Lotta Crabtree came to the Ponderosa. Remember what you told me when we were fighting at the house – after I said you could just forget about us being kin?"

 _Please, Joe_ , Adam pleaded silently, _please remember._

His brother's tone darkened a bit, as if that argument still stung. "Yeah...I...remember."

"You told me that'd be easy because you couldn't see yourself as kin to anything whelped out of a – "

"Thin...blue-blooded...Boston Yankee."

"Yes, Joe. Yes! It's me! How else could I know that?" Adam paused and turned in the direction Brewer had taken. There had been a sound. Whatever it was reverberated along the walls, moving down the tunnel toward them.

Joe was silent for five long unsettling seconds. Then he said, his voice small, strangled, disbelieving.

"Adam..."

There was no time for a reunion. Focused on the sound, which he now recognized as a series of charges going off, Adam struck out with his hand and caught his brother's arm. "Joe, they've done it! We have to get into the shaft." He looked up.

Rock was falling.

"Now, Joe! Move! _Now!"_

The shaft Adam had descended was about a hundred feet away. As they ran, the ceiling above them cracked and debris began to strike the cavern floor. A massive cloud of dust rose up from that and then another exploded inward, rushing down the corridor from the surface, stinging their eyes and choking in their throats. Joe was moving too slowly. It pained him to do it, but he forced him to move faster, almost dragging him. A few seconds that's all they had. A few precious seconds in which they could reach the shaft.

They _had_ to reach the shaft...

Suddenly, they were at its base. As rock and stone pounded him, Adam pushed Joe before him and shoved his brother up and into it. He followed as quickly as he could, pulling his legs in just as a large boulder crashed to the floor, partially sealing them in. Once in the shaft Adam reached for his brother, found him and pulled him close, pressing Joe's mouth and nose into his shirt and wrapping his other hand around his head, guarding him from the dust that swirled about them, keeping him safe as he had done for his brother when he was a little boy – as he had _so_ longed to do and so much missed doing over the last twelve years of Joe's life. As he waited for the roar of the explosion to fade, for the rocks to stop falling – waited to see if they would survive – Adam Cartwright couldn't help it. He smiled.

He was home.

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"Jim!" Spock shouted, calling his attention to the woman running toward the dust and debris rolling out of the mine.

Altering his direction, Kirk ran forward and caught Anne Cartwright in his arms even as she bolted for the collapsing rock. He caught her and held her tightly, letting her fight and kick against him, pressing his hand into her hair as she cried out for the man she loved.

The man they had failed to save..

Spock was crouching beside Curran Theron, making certain the Albino was out. The Vulcan rose and walked woodenly over to where they stood. He waited until Anne's shouts had diminished to silent sobs before speaking.

"Mrs. Cartwright. Anne," Spock said, his look and words intense. "There is hope."

Anne stiffened. Her head came up. She looked at him first and then at Spock, her eyes widening with surprise even as she asked, her voice robbed of strength, "There's hope?"

Spock's dark eyes flicked to him and then returned to the grieving woman. "You're husband was not alone. His...brother was with him. They may have made it out. There is another way."

Again they locked gazes. Yes, there was hope in the near-black depths of his first officer's eyes, but it was slim.

Kirk nodded and, taking Anne Cartwright in hand, said, "Lead the way."

Without a word the Vulcan turned and began to walk. He led them to the right of the mine entrance and into the trees. They walked a short distance and then turned and angled back toward the mountain. As they approached it Kirk noted dust swirling in the air. This must be what Spock meant. His first officer must have found an exploratory shaft cut into the side or something of that nature. It was how Joe's brother had gotten to him. If the gods were kind, they would find the pair sitting just outside the mine.

But the gods are capricious. Outside the shaft there was more dust whirling up and into the sky.

Dust...and rock.

The shaft had collapsed on their end.

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Doctor Leonard McCoy was carrying his boots. It was a new pair, created and produced by the Enterprise's replicator for his second journey into the past, but they were just as _damned_ poorly fit to his feet as the first ones!

He knew it. He _knew_ the computer hated him!

At first he'd led Jim's lame horse along the road, intending to return to the Ponderosa as ordered. Then, a few miles out, he'd abandoned it and turned around and begun walking. Oh, he hadn't just left the animal beside the road. He'd waited until he was near a farm and then shooed it into the field toward a boy who was working.

McCoy had no idea how much of a lead Jim had on him. He imagined it was fairly substantial. He'd considered stopping, but somehow that didn't seem right with Jim in danger, Spock out there somewhere, and Joe Cartwright missing as well as half of the Enterprise bridge crew.

"You don't do anything halfway, do you, Spock?" he muttered.

The Georgia doctor considered the road ahead. The night sky was brilliant with stars and the moon shone down, lighting the road before him. If he was going to find Jim, he was going to have to keep walking. Maybe he could find another horse and trade something for it. McCoy looked himself over.

He wondered with a wry smile if there would be any ranch hands who would be interested in a trade that involved a used hypo-spray?

McCoy snorted as he sat on the edge of a large boulder and lifted his foot to put his right boot back on.

Maybe he should use it on the blisters on his feet.

As he placed one boot on the ground, Leonard McCoy heard a noise. It was indistinguishable at first from those of the night, but then he realized it was the sound of horses flying fast –

And coming his way.

After quickly lacing the boot he held, he had caught up the other one and just about finished with it when the first horse and rider appeared. The man shot past him, quickly followed by another and another and...

That one. The woman. It was –

"Uhura!" he shouted. "Lieutenant Uhura! It's McCoy!"

He was concerned at first that she hadn't heard him and then relieved when he realized she had. The beautiful Bantu woman checked her horse and turned back. As she did, the others with her did the same.

Riding as if she had been born to it, Uhura came to his side.

McCoy stuck out a thumb in the universally recognized code for hitchhiking.

"Ma'am," he drawled, his face breaking with a smile. "I'd be obliged if I could trouble you for a ride."

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When he removed his hand and shifted Joe, Adam discovered his brother was unconscious. They'd managed to work their way up the shaft to the point where it widened before narrowing as it left the mountainside. They were in a pocket about four feet high and as many feet wide, blocked on both ends by fallen rocks. He could see sunlight, so there _were_ small openings feeding them air. Leaving Joe, Adam crawled forward to see if he could move any of the rocks, but found all too quickly that were wedged in tightly and wouldn't budge. Returning to where his brother sat propped up against the wall, Adam crawled over him and checked the other end as well.

It was worse.

By the time he took his place at Joe's side, he found he was exhausted. The air was thick with dust and growing stagnant. The shaft's walls were damp and cold. The light piercing the rocks at the end of it was meager. Still, it was enough to let him see his brother. Joe was pale – even paler than the rock dust. And he was breathing hard. Joe had obviously been beaten. Reaching out, Adam ran his fingers through the matted curls to the left side of his brother's face.

He was right. It was blood.

Moving his fingers to his brother's cheek, Adam licked his lips and then called him. "Joe. Joe, can you hear me?"

For a moment there was nothing. Then Joe's eyelids fluttered. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked around like a man waking from a dream.

"Adam?"

The black-haired man drew in a sigh of relief that fought for escape. He knew Joe would balk if he perceived he thought he was showing any hint of weakness.

"How are you, little brother?"

Joe's hand moved. It reached for him. "Adam?"

He clutched it, as reassured by the touch as he hoped Joe was. "Yes, it's me. I'm here."

Joe licked his lips and coughed. "...how?"

He snorted. "It's a long story. I'll tell you, Joe, the next time we're sitting in the great room in front of the fire. But first, I have to get us out of here."

His brother looked at him sideways. "Where's...here?"

Adam shifted so he was sitting against the rock wall like Joe was. He leaned his head back and sighed. "'Here' is a pocket of air in the middle of a ton of rock."

A slow smile crept across his brother's face. "Same old Adam. Always encouraging."

"How are you, Joe?"

The curly-haired man drew in a breath, coughed, and then shifted, moaning as he did. "I've been better."

"Your ribs?"

"Hurt. My head hurts more."

The blood. There had to be a wound there. Adam hesitated and then said, "I'm sorry, Joe."

Those green eyes rolled over to look at him. Joe did that funny thing with his lips. The one where they pursed them and smiled at the same time. "Oh? 'Bout what?"

"I..didn't make it in time. I should have moved faster, gotten to you before the blast went off."

"Because you're...perfect."

Adam blinked. "What?"

"You always...thought you...were perfect. Or...had to be." Joe coughed again. "You're just...a man, brother. No more...no less."

He smiled. "When did you get to be so wise?"

Joe's energy was fading. His words slurred as he spoke. "When...had to take care...myself."

His brother's words stabbed him. "God, Joe. I couldn't... I..." It was _so_ hard to say. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when Hoss died. When your wife, your child... I know there was nothing I could have done about Hoss, but I might have been able to prevent..."

Still fading, Joe let out a little sigh before speaking. "You know, I...thought I couldn't survive when Alice..." He drew a pain-filled breath against the memory. "When Alice...and the baby died. Pa...told me something..."

"Yes, Joe?" He _needed_ to hear it. He'd been so long without their father's wisdom to guide him.

"It was after...I tried...Well, after...Ithought about...ending it. Pa came...to my room. Sat by me. ' _Never regret...anything from your past...son'_ , he said. _'One day you'll...look back and thank it.'_ "

"Thank it?" Adam asked. "Whatever for?"

Joe laughed. "For...hurting you. Pa...said you'd thank it...for...hurting you so much...that you decided to be...stronger."

Adam reached out and squeezed his brother's arm and then slipped his own in behind Little Joe and pulled him close. Joe's head fell to his shoulder as they sat there in the dark, breathing in dust and debris, waiting to suffocate or for the shaft to cave-in and bury them.

Together.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dawn broke as Kirk and Spock surveyed the damage the Klingons' explosives had caused. They'd collapsed the main entry to the mine and partially caved-in the shaft. This was it, Kirk thought, shaking his head and not even slightly amused. The 'freak' accident in the historical record that revealed the gold vein and turned Bodie into a prosperous town.

At what a cost.

He'd looked and there were chinks between the rocks so, if the brothers had managed to make it into the narrow shaft, they were getting at least a minimal amount of oxygen. Even with Spock's Vulcan strength they'd been unable to move any of the fallen rock, it was so tightly wedged in. They'd tried calling out to the pair but, so far, there had been no reply. That didn't necessarily mean either or both men were dead, but if they were unconscious from lack of air, that did mean time was running out.

What he wouldn't have given to be able to use a phaser!

Running his hand over his face, Kirk considered the fall of rock before him and then turned to Joe Cartwright's pregnant wife who sat on top of a low boulder nearby. The dawn was breaking and it set her amber hair on fire. She was a strong woman and, once the shock of what happened had worn off, had done all she could to help them. The problem was, now, there was nothing left to do.

Nothing but wait for the inevitable.

"Anne?" he asked as he came to stand beside her. "Do you need anything?"

She looked up. He read the unspoken answer in her eyes. She needed her husband and the father of her baby, alive and whole.

"No," she said quietly. "No, thank you."

Kirk sat beside her and took her hand in his. "Don't give up hope. Not yet."

Anne's eyes flicked to the wagon next to which Curran Theron lay, trussed like a pig awaiting the spit. Her voice was small. "How can a man hate so much?"

It was Spock who answered. He hadn't realized the Vulcan had joined them. "Curran Theron does not hate. His crime is worse than that. He feels no ill will, nor acts from any desire other than to spread chaos throughout the universe. You, your husband, the Captain and I, to him, we are nothing but expendable pieces in a galactic game."

Kirk looked at his friend. Was that a tremor of emotion in his voice?

"Spock, are you –"

Kirk stopped. There were horses – _many_ horses thundering toward them. Rising to his feet, he placed himself between whoever it was that would arrive any second and the grieving woman. Seconds later he heard her sharp intact of breath.

"Ben!" Anne breathed.

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Ben Cartwright was exhausted. He'd ridden through the night without sleep. He was also entirely awake and primed to take action the second it appeared it was necessary. He didn't know what he had expected to find when he rounded the bend and saw the Bodie mine, but it had not been two bedraggled men and the very dusty and dirty, tear-streaked face of his daughter-in-law.

He was off the horse before it stopped.

"Anne!"

The older man saw Jim Kirk step aside as Anne recognized him and rose to her feet. A heartbeat later she was running toward him. As she caught hold of him, clenching him so tightly he stumbled back, his daughter-in-law's composure failed and she began to sob.

"Pa," she breathed. "Oh...Pa..."

As the others in his party arrived, Ben placed his hand on her head and soothed her quietly, even as he looked over it to meet the blond man's eyes. He read no despair in them, but there was also little hope.

"Joe?" he asked.

Kirk joined him. Ben knew the expression on his face. It was one a soldier gave their general when forced to acknowledge they had failed. "Alive, sir, we believe, but..." Kirk drew a breath. "You son is trapped in a shaft leading to the surface. I am afraid, Ben," the young man's eyes flicked to Anne, "that both his air and time are running out."

His daughter-in-law drew in a breath and let it out in a strangled cry.

"Is he alone?"

Kirk started to respond, but then another man moved forward. One Ben had not seen before. He was dressed all in black as Adam had often been. "He is not, sir," the newcomer said.

"Who's with him?"

The two men exchanged glances. Ben saw something pass between them. Almost as if they had come to a joint decision – as if both felt the need to hold something back. It was Kirk who finally answered.

"We don't know."

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Spock glanced at his friend, grateful Jim had agreed that this was not the time to tell Ben Cartwright his oldest son still lived - and was trapped with his brother in the mine. He then headed for the others who had ridden in with the older man. The first he encountered was Montgomery Scott. Beside him was an older man whose wry eyes and determined look reminded him of their head of security.

"Mister Spock," the Scotsman sighed. "Do ye hae any idea how long we've been lookin' for ye?"

One ebon eyebrow peaked. "Assuming you began the moment I left the Enterprise for the second time, I would calculate it to be six-point-two-four months and – "

"He didn't really want an answer, Spock. That's the human way to say 'we missed you'."

The Vulcan turned to find Leonard McCoy coming toward him. He was limping.

"Doctor, are you injured?"

The doctor grimaced. "Tortured. That's what I've been – tortured by a bad pair of boots."

He really had no reply to that.

The older man who had come with the crew of the Enterprise had been eyeing the elder Cartwright and Joe's wife. He turned to him and asked, "You gonna tell us what happened, son?"

Spock's eyes narrowed. It was the closest he could come to showing his disappointment. "We arrived too late. The men who took Mrs. Cartwright delivered her husband into the mine and then...detonated the explosives, causing a cave-in."

"And just how come you were late?" the older man demanded.

"This is Sheriff Roy Coffee, Spock," Scott explained.

He inclined his head toward the lawman. One black eyebrow lifted. It seemed simple enough. "We were too late because we did not make it in time."

His statement unexpectedly raised the sheriff 's ire. "Now, you listen here..."

Suddenly Kirk was at his side. "Sheriff? Sheriff Coffee, you'll have to forgive my friend." Kirk shot him a look. "English is his second language."

"Actually, Captain, it was my fourth..."

This time the look said, 'shut up."

He did so.

"Captain?" Roy Coffee asked them both suspiciously. "You two soldiers – or sailors?"

Kirk nodded. "Sort of. Sheriff, I hate to tell you what to do, but now that we have more man-power, might it not be wise to see if we can move any of that rock?"

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Adam shifted his brother's weight. Joe's head fell to his lap as he did. When he touched his skin, he felt the fever rising.

He'd also come away with fingers thick with blood.

"Joe? Joe, wake up!" he demanded, gently slapping his brother's face. Doc Martin always said not to let a man with a concussion sleep. He might never wake up again. "Joe!"

The only answer he got was a vague sort of grunt.

Adam felt like a heel for doing it, but he sucked it up and said, "Joe. Anne _needs_ you. So does your child. Joe, you _have_ to fight – you have to stay _with_ me so you can return to them!" When his brother didn't stir, he pressed him. "Joe!"

This time he groaned and his eyes opened, sort of. "Anne..."

"She's waiting, Joe. Outside this hellhole. She's waiting for you. You have to stay awake so you can get back to her!"

His brother blinked. His eyes opened wider, this time with some amount of clarity. He looked around. "We're...still trapped?"

"Yes. But I think I heard something, just a moment ago. Joe, I think someone is trying to reach us."

It had been faint, but he was sure he had heard the sound of rocks being pulled away and of men grunting as they labored to move them. He'd definitely heard voices. At first he thought they were in a dream, but the longer he'd listened the more certain he'd become they were real.

Theywere _real._

"Pa," Joe breathed. "That'll...be pa. He'd never...give up."

Adam wondered idly if his father had given up on him. It sounded like Joe had. But then he couldn't blame him – couldn't blame either of them, really – not after what had happened with Hoss.

"That's right, Joe. Pa wouldn't give up. _You_ can't give up either. You hear me?"

His brother's head moved. He thought it was an affirmative.

A second later a cloud of dust covered them as a series of rocks tumbled from the pile blocking their exit to the top of the shaft. The light increased. It appeared to be the rosy light of dawn. Adam laid his brother down and then crawled over him, moving toward it.

"Here!" he shouted. "We're here!"

A muffled cheer went up. Someone asked a question. He couldn't understand it, but he could anticipate it.

"Joe's alive," he called back. "Do you hear me? Tell Anne! Joe's alive!"

Someone went running and then even more rocks fell.

A second later a hand reached through a small opening the rock-fall had created.

Adam gripped it and held on for all he was worth.

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"I have him!" Ben cried. "Get the rest of this rock out of the way."

He knew it was difficult. Jim Kirk's people had formed a line through which they'd passed stone after stone. Montgomery Scott was an engineer and it hadn't taken him long to find the needed tools in one of the empty shacks and then use them to begin to remove the rocks blocking the shaft in an ordered fashion so as not to cause any more damage.

He was in the way and he knew it, but there was no way on God's green earth that he was going to let go of his son's hand!

"Joe!" he called. "I have you!"

Nyota Uhura bent beside him. She used a wet cloth to clear his eyes. Then she smiled. "It won't be long, sir," she said, packing all of his hopes and fears into that one phrase.

But would it be soon enough?

"If you will, sir," the young Chinese man said. "Push aside as best you can. We need to get this large rock out."

Ben did as he was told, but he didn't let go. He _couldn't_ let go.

The man named Spock moved in next. He'd seen it before, for his size the odd black-haired man was a mountain of strength. Spock took hold of the boulder and pulled – hard. A second later it came away and a dusty and dirty figure tumbled out into his arms. Ben had expected Joe. It wasn't Joe.

Ben's heart skipped a beat.

It was Adam.

1 The Trouble With Tribbles


	13. Chapter 13 (Part Two Chapter Six)

SIX

Kirk glanced at the wagon near which their two prisoners sat, hands and feet bound. They had Theron and Deets. In the excitement of the explosion Brewer had gotten away. He'd thought about pursuing the Klingon, but decided at the moment that it was a waste of time and energy.

He was probably halfway back to Qo'noS by now.

The blond man turned his attention then to the makeshift structure they had created out of branches and bark and covered with boughs and leaves from nearby trees. It housed two very sick men. Though the elder Cartwright brother had not been wounded – at least not in any way they could find – he had fallen unconscious in his father's arms and had yet to wake up. Joe, well, Joe Cartwright was far from being out of danger. When he'd talked to McCoy, the doctor had growled and complained about an era where medicine had yet to advance to the level of Spock's stone knives and bear skins. The blow that Deets had given to Joe's head had broken the skin and become infected. His fever was high. A course of powerful antibiotics could save him.

Without them, McCoy warned, he might die.

Housed in the moment within the construction were four people. Anne Cartwright would not leave her husband's side. Bones said it was all right. She'd been a great help to him and was a lady to be reckoned with. Ben Cartwright sat between his two sons, fearful for the one and filled with wonder at the other – at the son who had gone missing so many years ago, whom he had feared dead, who had been pulled from beneath the earth in a second birth and was now alive and yet in danger.

Across the camp his crew was sleeping too. They'd been on their feet for more than twenty-four hours. It had taken an order, of course, to get them to do so.

Kirk ran a hand over his face. Unfortunately, there was no one around who outranked _him_.

"You need to get some sleep," a familiar voice chided, "unless you want to end up in a third bed in my make-shift sickbay."

Jim looked up to find McCoy watching him. He shook his head. "There's Theron yet to deal with."

His friend inclined his head toward the wagon beside which the trussed malcontent and rogue Originator sat. "Spock's gone to see to him."

Kirk looked over his shoulder. He could see his friend's long lanky form advancing slowly toward the wagon. A frown furrowed his brow as he turned back. "About Spock..."

McCoy nodded. "There's something wrong. I can't put my finger on it."

"Do you want me to order him to let you examine him?"

The doctor shook his head. "No need to antagonize him yet. I've got my eye on him."

Kirk glanced again at his first officer. Spock had stopped by Theron. His tall form was rigid, disapproval of the rogue Originator written into every line.

"Good," he said. "That makes two of us."

Curran Theron's smile was as mad as it was maddening. His crimson eyes lit with a queer delight as he looked up and asked, "I bet you think you've won, Vulcan. Don't you?"

"Idle speculation is as worthless an occupation as betting."

The Originator laughed. "That's why you'll never understand." He paused. "Do you play chess, Spock?"

Frowning was illogical, but it was genetically impossible for him to avoid doing so thanks to his mother's DNA. "Yes."

"How about poker?"

For a moment Spock was struck dumb by the absurdity of a being whose species had created a link to all of time and space engaging in a simple card game.

"No," he said.

Theron was not an Albino, but he had chosen to make himself look like one, which in some ways was a window into his twisted mind. Spock pursed his lips. A window he _should_ have been able to open.

"Oh, you're wrong. You're playing it now," the Originator laughed. "I've dealt you a hand and you're losing."

Spock stiffened. "You have been defeated and are under arrest. I fail to see how you could in any way consider yourself as having the upper hand."

Curran Theron's voice changed. It deepened and grew more intense. "Did you really think for one Earth minute that a being such as _I_ could be incapacitated and held by such a simple thing as ropes around the wrist? I walk with the _gods_ , Spock," he declared. "And soon, _you_ will too."

Theron's last words were close to a whisper. They carried both a warning and a threat.

"It's not over."

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Ben Cartwright stirred. He sucked in air and ran both hands over his stubbled cheeks. He'd reached into that shaft, meaning to save one son and had found, in fact, he'd saved _two._ His eldest son, whom he had given up for dead, was _alive._ Adam was here.

Adam was _home._

The older man turned and glanced at his other son. Anne had not left Joe's side. She was there still, asleep, her head laying on his son's chest. Joe's hand was draped over her shoulder. Sadly, Joseph was far from well. Doctor McCoy'd said he had done all he could before he left, the rest was up to Joe now. Ben leaned back and looked at the green boughs above him. How many times had he heard those words concerning this, his last born child? His son had a strong constitution. Joe had survived more than any man should be asked to survive. Still, there would be an end, as there had been an end for Hoss, for Marie, and for his other wives.

He prayed Joe's would not come before his own.

As the older man sat there, thinking, his oldest boy stirred. A low moan escaped Adam's dusty lips. He seemed to grow quiet and then, without warning, shot up out of the bed.

"Joe!"

Ben caught his shoulders, still amazed that the touch was real. "Son, you're brother is beside you. He's...hurt, but he's here. You kept him alive, Adam. You saved him."

His son blinked once, twice, and then focused on his face. 'Pa?' he mouthed and then reached out and touched him as if trying to determine whether or not he was real.

He knew the feeling.

Ben caught his hand and squeezed it. "I'm _real_ , Adam," he said, "as real as you."

Unexpectedly, Adam began to cry. Tears streamed down his dusty cheeks. "Pa," he whispered. "Pa, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what, son?"

"For leaving you. You and Joe and...Hoss." He shook his head. "If I had been here, maybe... Hoss, Pa. And...Joe's wife and child."

"I _was_ here, son," he said, his heart breaking as well as his voice. "There was nothing I could do." Ben paused. When he spoke the words he meant them. It had taken a long time, but he _did_ mean them. "God's will be done."

Adam's eyes went to his brother. "God's will..." he mouthed.

Ben nodded. "Be done."

His son fell silent then, as if dealing with that in his own way. A moment later his eyes returned to him. "I didn't go away because I wanted to, Pa. There was something... Something I had to do."

"Each man plots his own course, son. It does no good for another to question it."

"No, Pa," Adam insisted, gripping his hand. "I _need_ you to understand. It was for Joe. It was to _protect_ Joe." He watched as his eldest son's eyes went to his brother and his sleeping wife. "So he could have a life."

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends...or for his brother," Ben quoted, his words quiet.

It took a moment, but Adam nodded. The grip on his fingers was returned. "I love you, Pa. I'm _so_ glad to be home."

He'd told his sons that tears were a blessing and he meant it.

He did nothing to stop their flow.

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Kirk pulled Scotty to the side. "Where's Sheriff Coffee?" he asked.

"He left, Captain. He's looking for the man whot escaped."

He let out a sigh. "Let's hope he doesn't find him. I'd hate to think of a local sheriff going up against a Klingon."

Scotty laughed. "My money would be on the sheriff, Captain," he said with a wink. "He's a bonny man."

Absently, he nodded. "Where are Uhura and Sulu?"

"Standing guard, Captain."

He thought a moment. "I want you three to return to our time and the Enterprise and wait for my orders."

"Sir?"

"We've tampered enough with the time stream. The more of us there are in the past, the more possible damage we can do. McCoy has to remain for the time being. Joe Cartwright can't be left alone without a doctor. Spock," he glanced in the direction of the wagon. "I'll watch Spock."

Scotty frowned. "Are you thinkin' there's somethin' wrong with Mister Spock, sir?"

It was a feeling – another one of those inexplicable _hunches_. "I don't know, Scotty. I hope not."

"Very well, sir. I'll gather up the others and we'll use the time bracelets to return."

"Take them off the minute you get there and hand them over to security. Don't for _any_ reason use them again." He drew a breath. "Even though you've only used them once, I don't want to take any chances."

"What about you, Captain? You've used it three times."

Kirk grinned. " _Five_ seems to be the charm. That's part of why I'm worried about Spock. He's used it four times so far as I can deduce." He looked for the Vulcan's slender form near the wagon, but didn't see him. Spock must have finished with Theron and gone on to something else. "In order for Spock to return to our time, he will have to use the manipulator again. I want Bones there looking out for him when he does."

With that the blond man left Scotty to inform the others of his decision. As he crossed back over to the makeshift hospital a pale glow lit the sky behind him and he knew they were gone. That left him, Bones, and Spock to mop up the mess they had made in history. Theron would need to be taken to a Starfleet facility, all of the bracelets gathered and quarantined, and it would probably be wise to go to Gateway to check in with the Guardian and see if it could show them the past they had lived and the future they might have unwittingly created.

Bones was coming out of the tent when he arrived.

"Joe?" he asked.

"The same," the doctor replied, his tone discouraged. " _Damned_ if I don't feel useless! The man has a simple infection and it's probably going to kill him."

Kirk scowled. "You really think he might die?"

The other man shrugged. "I'm a doctor not a prognosticator. It's up to Joe. He's young and strong. He may make it."

He nodded and then glanced toward the wagon. "Have you seen Spock?"

McCoy frowned. "He was over there a minute ago." When he looked and didn't find him, he added, "Where'd he go?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm going to find out."

Kirk hastened his pace as he drew near the last place he had seen Spock. That inner sense he had was tingling. When he arrived, the tingle turned to a shock. Curran Theron was nowhere in sight.

Neither was Spock.

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The Vulcan stumbled and almost fell. It had happened so fast. Theron had appeared to be subdued, his hands bound, his feet hobbled. Then, suddenly, he was free. Having had no direct contact with the Originators before, it appeared they had underestimated their powers. Theron had _allowed_ himself to be taken. He could have escaped at any time. He chose not to. He chose to let everything unfold as it had, knowing that – no matter what – his will _would_ be done. Even now, he meant to go back, meant to leave Joseph Cartwright in that mine. Then he'd kidnap Joseph's wife, in effect kidnapping his son. Theron would rear the boy as his own, corrupting him, bending the child to his will and molding the last of his descendants to become one of the most destructive forces in the universe.

Jim Kirk unleashed.

Before that he would play with them, as a cat did with mice. He would torture McCoy, ruin Kirk, and him, well, Theron had told him what he intended to do with him – destroy his mind.

Though there was no one Spock would admit it to, that scared him. It scared him so much he had decided that logic dictated illogical action.

He was going to kill the man with his bare hands.

Even as the thought crossed the Vulcan's mind, Curran Theron turned to look at him. It was as if the Originator could read his mind. "Behold the noble Vulcan!" he said. "The archetype of non-violence."

If he _could_ read his mind, Theron didn't need to be told. Half of his heritage was human.

"I will not let you destroy Jim," Spock warned as he walked. "Now _or_ in the future."

"And how do you propose to stop me?"

"I do not know how," he admitted, "but I will."

The rogue Originator caught him by the arm and spun him around. Theron's crimson eyes blazed a trail into his near-black ones. "Tell me, Spock," he breathed, "what is it you fear most?" Theron's hand touched his. Cold fingers encircled his wrist and then grasped the bracelet he wore.

Spock drew in a sharp breath. "No."

The Originator' smile was wicked and pregnant with pleasure. He took hold of the bracelet and pressed a hidden switch, releasing all of its remaining venom in a single deadly burst.

"Yes."

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When Adam opened his eyes again, it wasn't to find his pa but a lovely woman keeping watch over him. She sat between him and Joe and, by the way she was holding his little brother's hand, he knew she must be his wife. The woman was beautiful as he would have expected, with deep golden blonde hair and a face that would have moved a master painter, but there was more to her than that. Even as she held her wounded husband's hand and tears ran down her cheeks, her eyes were bright with hope. He continued to watch her until she blinked and turned to look at him.

She must have sensed somehow he was awake.

That beautiful face lit with a smile. "Adam?"

He returned it. "And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

She looked at Joe, leaned over and kissed his forehead, and then placed her husband's hand on his chest. Turning fully toward him then, she said, "My name is Anne. Anne Cartwright."

His eyes went to her belly, which was big with child. "Mrs. Anne Cartwright, I hope?" he laughed.

She laughed too. "Yes, Uncle Adam."

That sobered him. Again, the loss of those twelve years away struck him as hard as the falling rocks in the mine. He'd missed so much – saying goodbye to Hoss, helping his brother through his loss, Joe's courtship and wedding..."

"Adam?"

"Sorry," he sighed, shifting his covers and sitting up. "Just feeling sorry for myself."

She looked at him, seeming to read his mind. "It doesn't matter why you went away. You're here now. You..." Her voice broke. "You were here to save your brother."

"This time," he said quietly.

He felt her hand on his. "We can't question God, Adam. About Hoss or Alice. If she had lived, I wouldn't be here and Joe... Well, he wouldn't be the man he is now."

What was it Joe had said as they sat in the mine shaft waiting for their air to run out? That God allowed a man to be hurt so he would _decide_ to be stronger?

"You're very wise," he said with a little smile.

"No, she's...not," a tired voice remarked, so softly they almost missed it. "...just...stubborn."

Anne pivoted sharply. "Joe!"

His grin was pale, but it was there. Adam watched as his brother weakly lifted his hand and his wife caught it. "Hey...beautiful," he said.

Adam closed his eyes. He sighed with relief. It wasn't over by a long shot. There was the threat of internal injuries, of infection, of...so much. But his brother was awake and alive.

"If you two awake aren't a sight for a weary old physician's sore eyes," a tired voice pronounced, opening Adam's eyes again. He looked and found Doctor McCoy standing just within the door of the small structure. The older man was grinning. "I'm beginning to believe I could cure the common cold!"

Adam began to rise to his feet.

A hand on his shoulder held him down. "Now, you wait a minute, young man. Until you have a permission slip from this old Georgia doctor, you're not going anywhere."

"I need to..." He paused. "I'd like to talk to my father, Doctor McCoy." Adam's eyes flicked to Anne and Joe. "Alone."

McCoy lifted his hand. "Oh, I see. Well, I guess that couldn't hurt." He brightened. "I just left off talking with him myself. He was saying goodbye to Sheriff Coffee."

"Roy left?"

"The sheriff needed to return to his duties in Virginia City. Your father asked him to check in at the Ponderosa and let the men there know what was going on."

"What about Theron and Deets? Roy left them here? Unguarded?" Even though he knew the rogue Originator and altered Klingon had no business in Roy's jail, he found it hard to believe the seasoned lawman hadn't fought for just that.

McCoy smiled. "Son, you've been traveling with the sour-tempered, close-mouthed first officer of the Enterprise. Jim Kirk is blessed with a winning smile and an even more winning way with words. He convinced your sheriff that he was a Pinkerton detective and, as such, had jurisdiction over the prisoners."

Adam snorted. "Amazing."

"That's Jim." McCoy nodded toward his brother. "Now, you just let me get to the man who needs me before I start feeling useless." The doctor nodded toward the entrance. "You go talk to your father."

He rose to his feet, a bit more shakily than he had expected. As he reached the opening, the doctor called him again.

"Oh, and Adam..."

"Yes, Doc?"

"Keep it short."

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"Where are they?" Kirk demanded of the remaining prisoner. He had removed Deets' gag and was glaring at the Klingon. "Where's Theron? What happened to Spock?"

Deets spit and then wet his lips with his tongue. "Your man was unprepared. Theron overcame him."

Spock? Unprepared?

"You're lying."

"Why would I _lie_ , Kirk? What would it gain me?" He pulled at his restraints. "Remove these and I will show you whose side I am on."

"You were working for Theron."

"No!" he growled. "I did not work for that _Ferengi_ dog! I was assigned to K'Resh by the High Command, the man you knew as Carter. I was fulfilling my duty, nothing more."

Kirk mulled it over. He'd pegged Carter instantly as Intelligence. Deets was a soldier and he knew what that meant since, in a way, he was one himself.

"What's your true name?" he asked.

Something sparked in Deets' black eyes. Respect, he thought. "Drax."

"Drax," Kirk repeated. He drew a breath and let it out slowly. "I'd like to trust you, but I'm not sure I can."

He was surprised to see Drax's eyes move to the structure where the two Cartwright men lay. "Theron is a spineless coward," he spat. "I have seen bravery here unmatched by our young Klingon men."

Kirk frowned.

"Joseph Cartwright," Drax explained, his lips curling with a sneer that was what a Klingon used for a smile. "That one has the heart of a warrior. I would be honored to kill the man who meant to kill him."

Kirk winced. "How about you help capture him instead?"

Drax's eyes were at first confused and then lit with delight. "Ah... So he may be tortured first."

"...right."

He'd deal with that expectation later.

Moving behind the Klingon, Kirk cut Drax's bonds and then stood back, prepared to defend himself if necessary. When the giant just stood there at military ease, he breathed a sigh of relief. With a glance at the structure from which Adam Cartwright was just emerging, he nodded.

"Let's go."

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"Pa?"

Ben Cartwright had been watching an exchange between Jim Kirk and one of the men who had tried to harm Joseph. These men – Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and the others – they were good men, but they were...wrong. Something about them was simply wrong.

Just like something was wrong with his eldest son's return.

Ben drew in a breath and turned to look at him. In some ways it was almost like Adam had never left. In fact, Adam _looked_ like he had never left.

He looked as young as Joe.

"Son."

Adam took him by the arm, almost as if needing to know he was real. His son stared into his eyes for several heartbeats before releasing him. Then he smiled. "I imagine you have questions."

His lips curled with a smile. "About a million of them."

Adam nodded. "I'll warn you up front, Pa, there's almost a million I can't answer."

Ben reached out and touched his face. "It doesn't matter, son. You're home. That's _all_ that matters."

Adam hung his head. When he looked up again, Ben saw the face of the little boy who had been through everything with him. "I just want you to understand one thing, Pa. Like I said before, I didn't choose to go away because I wanted...needed something for myself. Oh, I'd talked about it often enough." He paused and his voice changed. It became filled with wonder. "I talked about how I wanted to see strange, far-off and distant places. I...did that, and it was amazing. But the only reason I left, Pa, was for _family._ For Joe."

"That wanderlust that _didn't_ take you," Ben asked, his gaze locked on his son's, "is it satisfied now?"

Adam glanced at the place where his brother lay and then back. "It is, Pa. It is. I don't want to be anywhere but here." A second look of wonder overtook his handsome features. "I'm going to be an Uncle!"

Ben nodded. And he – he would be a grandfather.

There were truly miracles still left in the world.

Letting the tear that had formed in his eye fall unimpeded, Ben sniffed and nodded toward the structure. "Let's go see that brother of yours."

As Adam fell into place beside him and they began to move, Ben halted and turned toward his son.

"What is it, Pa?" Adam asked, doing the same.

"I just have one question."

Adam's black – not gray – but _black_ eyebrows peaked.

"Whatever it is they gave you where you went that's kept you so young looking... They don't sell it in bottles, do they?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Kirk's heart sank to his toes when he heard a low, almost bestial noise. It was the kind one animal made over another, expressing without words a loss that _had_ no words.

The problem was, it sounded human...or...Vulcan

He glanced at the Klingon jogging at his side. Drax had heard it too and recognized it as well.

He'd been on enough battlefields.

With a nod of his head, the blond man indicated the warrior should head to the right, while he took the left. He didn't know what they were looking for, but everything in him told him it had to do with Spock and Theron.

He just prayed the rogue Originator was also the originator of the cry.

Of course, prayer had never availed him much.

Breaking through the trees, the first thing he saw was Spock writhing on the ground. "Drax!" he shouted. "I've found Spock! Theron has to be somewhere nearby!"

"He is mine!" came the forceful answer. The Klingon shouted a battle cry and then he heard him breaking through the trees.

Dropping to his knees beside his first officer and friend, Kirk caught his shoulders and tried to steady him. "Spock! Spock! It's Jim. Can you hear me? It's _Jim_ , Spock!"

The Vulcan quieted, minimally. He still moaned and moved from side to side, but his movements were less violent than before. His lips parted but the only thing that came out was a strangled, "No..."

What had Theron done to him? Quickly examining him with his eyes, the only thing Jim could see that was out of place was a ring of deep green on Spock's wrist beneath the time manipulator he wore. On closer examination he realized the green was running along the Vulcan's veins, almost like blood poisoning.

"Spock? Can you hear me?" Kirk heard the tremble in his own voice. "What did Theron do to you?" Even though it was a waste of time, he wished he had a communicator – wished he could call Scotty back on the ship and forward in time and have him beam McCoy to his side in an instant. "Spock?"

This time the Vulcan's eyes opened. They contained something Kirk had seldom seen – fear.

"...Jim?"

He gripped him harder. "Yes, Spock. It's me. Jim."

"Theron..."

"He's gone. Tell me what he did, Spock. Tell me – "

Vulcan strength bruised his flesh. "Joseph... _must save_...Joe..."

"He's safe, Spock. Remember?"

"No!" There was a desperation in those eyes as well, something also seldom seen. "Save him...Jim. Save...the future..."

Jim glanced the way Drax had gone. Turning back to Spock he said, "I can't leave you alone."

"Yes...save Joseph. Send...McCoy..."

Spock stopped struggling then as he lost the battle to remain conscious.

He'd had to make many hard calls. He'd have to make many more, but this was one of the hardest.

Kirk left Spock laying where he was and ran for all he was worth back to the camp.

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Anne Cartwright stood and stretched and then placed a hand in the middle of her aching back. She was weary beyond words. Since Joe had awakened briefly, giving them hope of a full recovery, a weariness had overcome her borne, she was sure, on the back of everything that had happened over the last few days. Her other hand went to her belly. She had heard of maternal impressions and knew a child could be marked for life by what its mother endured. She could only hope that the love and strength of the Cartwright men would be what her son felt rather than her fear.

She had been _so_ afraid.

With a sigh she scolded herself. What a fool she had been for walking away all those years ago! She could have been married to Joe for over seven years now and had two or three little ones. She would have known his love all that time, would have shared the joy of their children born. Now, here she was, keeping watch over him, broken...maybe dying.

Was that it? Would she be a widow, raising a boy without a father's strong hand as Ben had had to raise his three boys without a woman's touch?

Adam's bed was empty. He and his father had just left. They'd checked in on them and then gone to find Jim Kirk. She wondered about Adam. Once he had cleaned up by running a wet cloth over his face and removed the dust from the mine, she'd been startled to see that Joe's _older_ brother barely looked older than Joe. Maybe by a year or two, but certainly _not_ twelve or thirteen.

There were mysteries within mysteries here.

As the thought crossed her mind, her husband moaned and she turned toward him.

Anne gasped.

Theron Vance stood beside Joe's bed. He had the fingers of one hand entwined in her husband's curly hair. The other rested on Joe's throat as if he would throttle him. Theron's crimson eyes lit with triumph.

"The cards are on the table, my dear," the villain gloated. "I win."


	14. Chapter 14 (Part Two Chapter Seven)

SEVEN

Captain Drax of the Klingon Imperial High Command clung to the shadows near the human's camp. He watched as Captain James Kirk, the bane of the Empire, halted and leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees in an attempt to recover from his quick and impressive sprint through the trees. Adam Cartwright, the brother of Joe, turned toward him as the Starfleet captain arrived. The oldest Cartwright son had been standing near the wagon with his father and seemed to instantly understand what had happened. Apparently, though he did not burn with the same fire, Joe's brother was Duranium bound in cloth. He broke into a run and headed for the structure where his brother lay.

Ben Cartwright followed hard on his heels.

He would like to know this man – this man who fathered such sons.

Drax waited as they entered the structure, already knowing what they would find, in order to know their battle plans.

Kirk was the first to appear. "Fan out!" he shouted. "Find them!"

It was doubtful the Cartwrights or the Federation men would find Curran Theron or the warrior named Joe. But _he_ would. Unlike the Federation slaves who were bound to obey the orders of men too weak and frightened to sit in a captain's chair, once there were no orders a Klingon commander was given reign to use his own mind without being bound by rules and regulations. The human lawman had tied him hand and foot and taken his disruptor, but he had not searched him thoroughly. Drax bent down and freed the handle of the knife he kept concealed in his boot, making the weapon readily accessible. Then he opened his belt buckle and palmed the small scanner hidden within. While he had laid in the wagon with Theron, he had managed to attach another of his hidden tools, a homing device, to the Originator's clothes.

It was beeping now.

Drax turned and plunged into the wood, following its call like a hunter follows sign. As he ran he considered how he had come to this moment and this place. Theron, the Originator, had contacted his superiors and laid out a plan, the likes of which would have astounded Kahless himself. Theron explained how, by using the Guardian of Forever – which the puny humans had usurped and kept to themselves – he had discovered a fixed point in time which was the genesis of the future they now occupied. One man was the crux. One man they all had reason to despise for his interference and his ability to triumph over the Empire.

James T. Kirk.

Theron went on to say that he intended to travel back in time – and this was the part that should have warned him – not to kill the man from whose loins Kirk's lineage sprang, but to take his child and rear it in a warrior's way, training it to set aside peace and to crave destruction and glory.

This Kirk would be a warrior not a peacekeeper.

Drax sighed as he pushed a low tree limb aside and continued on, his eyes trained on the device. James T. Kirk was solely responsible, Theron had said, for what the galaxy had become – weak, listless, and without honor. If Kirk had not defeated the Romulans and his own people, they would have triumphed, bringing strength, control, and order instead.

Not a _green targ_ , he had questioned him. Why not simply kill Kirk outright?

' _Think'_ , Theron had replied. _'Think!'_

What could be accomplished with a very different Kirk and the resources of a very _different_ Starfleet on their side?

And so he had signed on, along with K'Resh and Ba'Or who were in it for the reward the Originator promised more than anything else, to join in Theron's madness. For it _was_ madness. It would be to his eternal shame that he had not seen the signs of this. Not until it was too late.

Not until he had given his word.

Theron's treachery after the explosion had released him from that bond. K'Resh was dead and buried under a ton of rock, that _damned_ time band still on his wrist. Drax glared at the one he wore. If not for the need of it to return him to his time and home, he would tear it from his flesh lest the very metal contaminate him.

Drax took time to spit. He smirked at the thought of what awaited the Originator when he found him, and then he crouched like a _Grishnar cat_ stalking its prey.

His prey was within his sight.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe lay on the ground, panting hard. He'd come fully awake back in the camp when he'd felt impossibly strong fingers tighten on his throat enough to choke off his air. To his horror and surprise he discovered the man threatening him was none other than Theron Vance, the Albino his father had hired and fired a dozen years before.

Apparently when Theron had a grudge, he held it.

Instead of choking the life out of him, Vance had lifted a finger to his lips and called for silence. Wondering why Theron thought there was a snowball's chance in _Hell_ of him doing what he wanted, Joe's gaze followed his nod to find Anne standing there, her skin drained of color, trembling from head to foot.

It was at that moment, he knew he was dead.

Vance had led them both out of the back of the tent, more than half-supporting him. The man was tough as Hoss and twice as determined. Theron was taking them somewhere. Wherever it was, he'd lay odds it was to torture and kill him, and then to take Anne hostage against his brother and his father who would turn Heaven and Hell upside-down to bring justice.

He'd only just found Adam and now... Joe's eyes sought his wife's frightened gaze and held it. If she could escape, could get _away_ , at least Adam would be there for his child. Adam and, for a time, Pa.

But first Anne had to escape.

He saw her read it in his eyes. She shook her head slowly. Anne's hand went to her belly and she did it again. ' _No'_ , she said silently, ' _I won't have my child grow up without his father.'_

' _You have no choice_ ,' he replied in the same way. _'I love you.'_

Theron dropped him to the ground, kicked him in the side, and then moved away. Then, he looked down. The Albino was dressed like a gunslinger with a pearl-handled Colt holstered and tied down to his right leg. The black cloth emphasized his pure white hair and skin.

"You were supposed to have been at the bottom of that mine, Joe." He cackled manically. "Whatever is Professor Campbell going to think when he discovers one of the manipulators instead on the wrist of a Klingon!"

Joe's head hurt enough without listening to gibberish. "You're mad!" he spat back.

"Am I?" He seemed to seriously consider it. "If so, I am only mad north-northwest. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw," he smirked.

Adam had read him that. It was Shakespeare. The man was quoting Shakespeare!

"Let my...wife go," Joe pleaded, his hand clutching his ribs where they throbbed. " Do what...you want with me... but...let Anne go."

The Albino rolled his crimson eyes. "We've been through this before, Joseph. I fully intend to kill you, but I have no intention of letting your wife go. She, and your child, are mine to mold."

Joe tried to push himself up. It was a struggle, and if he made it to his feet he knew he would be useless. Still, he had to try.

"You're...not...taking her," he grunted.

Theron struck like a snake, taking him by the throat even as he rose and then holding him, actually lifting him off his feet with that grip.

"And who is going to stop me?" he sneered.

"Me!"

Joe looked. Anne was so close it startled him. Her jaw was set and her eyes colder than he had ever seen. She was backing up, moving away from them.

She'd come up without being heard or seen and she had Theron's pearl-handled gun in her hands.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Yes! _Yes!_ Drax formed a fist as his lips curled with satisfaction. The woman was as much a warrior as her mate! No wonder Theron so feared their progeny.

Moving closer, the Klingon heard her say. "You get away from my husband, you bastard! Let him go!"

The Originator refused. "He is suffocating now. He can last three minutes without air. One has expired. Surrender the gun and I will let his boots touch the ground."

The woman's eyes narrowed. She had the look of a _Sabre bear_ protecting its offspring. "If I shoot you, you'll drop him now."

"With a crushed windpipe," he countered, his fingers tightening.

Drax saw her falter.

Her only choice was to shoot.

As the thought crossed his mind, Drax noted something out of place to his right. When he looked, he saw nothing – until James T. Kirk rose up for a second to show he was there. Then, to his left, something moved as well. It was Adam Cartwright. Along with the warrior's brother was his father. In their eyes there was no sign of fear.

They were worthy.

The Klingon warrior watched as Kirk moved through the trees, maneuvering himself into a position from which he could attack. The Cartwrights did the same. While stealth was to be admired, caution was not.

Drax stepped out of the trees and shouted "Curran Theron, you are challenged!"

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Leonard McCoy halted when he heard a shout and turned back the way he had come. When there was nothing more, he resumed his passage through the trees. Kirk had run into the camp. He'd met his eyes and said one word. Only one.

 _Spock_.

Their exchange had been brief. From what little Jim had managed to communicate, he guessed it was bad. They knew when they'd used the time manipulators that there had been a risk of being poisoned. Apparently the beings who created the Guardian were stingy and wanted to keep time travel to themselves. McCoy grunted. No, that wasn't fair. They _needed_ to keep it to themselves.

He just wished they'd found a kinder, gentler way to do so.

Kirk had given him quick directions to the place where he had left Spock even as he took off again. It seemed the Vulcan had taken a full dose of the bracelet's venom, either by mistake or by Theron's design. He had no idea what that would do to the poor green-blooded bastard.

Jim had mentioned a bent-over tree and a few other landmarks. As they came into view, the physician quickened his pace. Between Jim's return trip and his into the woods, it had been almost half an hour since the captain had discovered Spock in whatever condition he was in. God alone knew what might have happened in that time. As he passed the tree and sighted the clearing where Jim had left the Vulcan laying, Leonard McCoy stopped.

The clearing was empty.

Spock was gone.

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Jim moved through the undergrowth to join the Cartwrights as soon as he saw Drax make his move.

"What is he doing?" Adam demanded. "There's no time!"

He knew that. He'd looked. Joe's veins were standing out and there was a blue discoloration around his lips and nose.

Kirk gritted his teeth. "He's being a Klingon."

"A what?" Ben Cartwright asked.

As the captain of the Enterprise mentally kicked himself for forgetting the older man had no idea what this was all about, Adam stepped in.

"It's a type of soldier, Pa. Like a samurai or abrafo warrior."

"Warrior or not, he is jeopardizing your brother's life!" Ben's gun was in his hand. He scowled , his finger itching on the trigger. There was no way to get a clear shot.

Kirk felt for the older man. "Give Deets a few more seconds. We can barge in, but if we do, then _both_ Joe and Anne may die. As well as your son's unborn child," he added softly.

For a moment the older man said nothing. He nodded and then pulled his watch from his vest. "Deets has half a minute. Then we go in. Agreed?"

Kirk exchanged glances with Adam. It had to end – one way or the other.

"Agreed."

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Drax did not hesitate, but walked straight past Anne Cartwright to Curran Theron and spit in his face. " _You_ are without honor!"

"Honor mattered little when you signed up," the Originator sneered as the spittle dripped down his cheek.

"Honor is everything! I honored my commander's orders, nothing more." He dropped his voice. "Now, you will honor this man and let him _go_. He is worth more than all of your _valueless_ kind taken together."

Theron glanced at Joe. Cyanosis painted the warrior's face blue. "And if I don't?"

"I _will_ kill you," he breathed.

Theron looked at him long and hard and then he did something he had not expected. He let go. Joe Cartwright plummeted to the ground at his feet and lay deathly still.

"You may have him," the Originator said. "I will take the woman."

"You will do no such thing," Joe's consort snarled like a _brush devil_ , aiming the gun she held again between Theron's crimson eyes. "You will not threaten my family again!"

Ben Cartwright sprang to his feet and shouted human words. "Anne, no! You'll never forgive yourself!"

The son of steel joined him, revealing himself – sadly – to be less worthy than he had first believed.

"He's right, Anne," Adam Cartwright told her. "I know. I...caused a man's death once... A man who deserved to die. It still haunts me. Life is life."

"No, it's not," the warrior's woman declared, showing her mettle. The gun did not waver.

The Federation captain shot him a glance and then stepped between Theron and the woman. "Anne, give me the gun. Your husband needs you. Put it down and go to him."

The woman of courage blinked and then her eyes went to her mate. After a moment, she stood down. It was not a surrender. It did not diminish her honor.

No matter what race, a woman's place was to look out for her own.

As Anne Cartwright moved, Drax looked from one human to the other. Their honor demanded they not take a life unless their own life was threatened. He had encountered it before, this mercy they spoke of. On the battlefield they were as ferocious as any race he had battled, but off the field, they failed.

 _He_ would not.

It took four steps. By the time Drax reached the Originator, his knife was out. Catching the worm by the throat, he squeezed, giving him ten heartbeats to experience what the warrior Joe Cartwright had.

And then he gutted him like a _bireQtagh_ he was.

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McCoy had been panting when he broke through the trees. Now, he was breathless. Drax, their former prisoner, had just murdered Curran Theron. As he watched, the Klingon dropped the Originator's lifeless form to the forest floor next to Joe Cartwright. He could immediately see something was wrong with the young man.

Joe's coloring was off and he was still, so _very_ still.

He reached him at the same time as his brother and father. Adam knelt before he could, pressing his hand against his brother's chest. When he looked up, his gaze was a mix of horror and hope.

"His heart's beating."

McCoy nodded. He'd seen Joe's chest rise and fall. It was the lack of air he was worried about. That, and the damage it might have done.

"See to your sister-in-law," he grunted as he set to work, startling the young man who seemed for a moment not to remember he had one.

"Yeah. Anne." Adam rose. "Pa, I'm going to get Anne."

Ben Cartwright stood close by. He made no move to kneel or get in his way, but kept a silent vigil as McCoy set to work. He nodded agreement to his oldest son and then his eyes returned to his youngest.

The doctor met those eyes. "I'll do all I can."

Around him there was chaos. He heard Adam speaking in low, soothing tones to Anne. Kirk was yelling. Probably at Drax. Even though in his heart of hearts Jim would have wanted the bastard dead who had done so much damage to this fine family, he knew his friend. Jim could not and _would_ not stomach murder.

There would be whatever the Klingon equivalent of _Hell_ was to pay.

Pushing all such thoughts aside, he turned back to his patient. Joe's throat was swollen and he was having difficulty breathing. In this century there was only one thing to do.

"Ben," he called, his eyes rising to the older man.

"Yes?"

"I need your permission."

Ben frowned. "For?"

McCoy sighed. "A tracheotomy. It's a simple operation. It will help him breathe."

"I know it," he nodded. "You have my permission."

With that, Doctor McCoy turned back to his patient and got to work.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation Starship Enterprise stared down Captain Drax of the Klingon Imperial High Command. Well, stared 'up'.

'That was uncalled for," he said.

Drax's lip lifted in a sneer. "I do not agree. There was a threat. It was eliminated."

"Theron was not an 'it'. He was – "

"A madman. A murderer and a coward. One who would use a woman and a ruin a child to create his own twisted vision of the future." The Klingon raised on black eyebrow. "Or am I wrong?"

Kirk scowled, some of the wind taken from the sails of his righteous indignation. "No, you're not wrong. But – "

"That is the difference between us, James T. Kirk, between human and Klingon. Your sense of honor is hampered by mists of mercy that cloud your eyes. Our eyes are open wide. There is evil. There is good. One deserves to live. The other does not." His dark eyes flicked to where Theron's body lay, covered now with a blanket. "Theron did not deserve to live. Joe Cartwright did."

How could he argue with that?

"Drax, there's self-defense and there's murder."

"The warrior could not defend himself. His capture was gutless; his captor spineless. I would not let Joe Cartwright die." Drax sought his gaze and held it. "Would you have done differently?"

 _Would he?_ Would he have let Ben's son die because of his high-minded principles? Because he refused to dispense death to a creature who not only threatened Joe and his family, but all of time?

Humbled, he replied. "I don't know."

The Klingon tilted his head. His eyes narrowed. "Do you know why, Kirk, the Originator wanted Joseph Cartwright dead?"

It bothered him. None of it had seemed to make any sense. Why Joe? What was so special about a man who would live his life on one plot of Nevada land, marry, father children, rear them, come into his old age, and pass on as all had to do. There was no monumental accomplishment that they could find. No mountains moved or climbed.

He shook his head. "No."

"Tell me of _your_ life, human. Tell me where and who you come from."

Kirk balked. "Why?"

Drax sneered again. "Humor me."

"It's the usual story," he shrugged. "My ancestors were European settlers on the North American continent of Earth. I was born in Iowa. My family came there, oh, a hundred or so years back. Before that, they lived in the West and pioneered the frontier in the nineteenth century. I don't recall any names but..." Kirk stopped. He turned and looked at Bones where he was working on Joe Cartwright. "No."

"Yes."

He pivoted back to face Drax.

"It was _you_ , Kirk, whom Theron meant to use as a weapon to destroy this universe you now serve. The birth of Joe Cartwright's son is the fixed point in time from which _you_ sprang."

"Joe...is my..."

"Many times removed great-sire."

Kirk blinked, taking that in. "Even so," he countered. "Why would Theron fixate on me? I'm not _that_ important."

Drax actually laughed – well, more _barked_ his amusement. "Stopping the advance of parasites on Deneva that would have driven the galaxy to madness, triumphing over the Romulans and, yes, my people as well, halting the advance of how many hostile races and their threat to the Federation?" The Klingon shook his dark head. "There is more, Kirk, so _much_ more. These are things you cannot yet know."

He was silent a moment. Then he asked, "Did Spock know?"

Drax nodded. "One thing our people have in common, James Kirk, is the worth of a comrade. I am sorry for your loss."

He hadn't admitted to himself that Spock was dead, but he did have to acknowledge the Vulcan was lost. Lost in madness and lost somewhere in time with no sure way to discover where and when. When he returned to twenty-two-sixty-nine he intended to petition Starfleet to allow him to go to Gateway and use the Guardian to search for him. After all, it was Spock who identified the danger to all of them and took the singular risk to set time right. Rather than branding him a criminal, he should be given a commendation.

He would be, Kirk told himself. Once he found him and brought him back.

"Kirk?"

He shook his head. He had no words.

Drax nodded, accepting his silence. After an interval, the Klingon said, "I would return to my people, James Kirk. Will you attempt to stop me?"

Kirk looked at him. A wry smile twisted his lips. "Somehow I don't think a Wild West jail could hold you, Drax, and right now the Federation has no jurisdiction. Though I need that time manipulator..."

The soldier drew himself up to his full height, which was about the same as a mountain. His heels came together and his hand shot out. "I salute you, James T. Kirk. May we have an opportunity to meet in battle." Drax actually smiled this time. "I would make your death a glorious one. As to this," the Klingon paused and then added as he twisted the time manipulator he wore. " _I_ need it more."

Drax vanished in a twinkle of starlight.

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Adam Cartwright halted outside his baby brother's door. It had been three days since the cave-in. They'd returned to the Ponderosa only the night before as Doctor McCoy had insisted they let Joe recover before moving him. The tracheotomy had saved his life, but left him weak. Due to Joe's other injuries, it had taken most of that time to stabilize him enough that he could endure the ride. A weary smile curled his lips. This was the first opportunity he would have to sit with his brother alone. Anne had rarely left Joe's side. Earlier, he'd come up to see how he was doing and found her in a deep sleep in the chair beside the bed. When he called her she hadn't wakened, and so he had lifted her up and carried her to the next room and placed her on the bed.

In Hoss' room.

His father had kept it as a shrine. It was filled with the items his middle brother had used in life that were now memorialized in death. Hoss' white felt fur hat was there, and his gun and holster. So was his leather vest. Each was left in its usual place as if his brother might return any minute to don them.

He'd had tears in his eyes as he closed the door and it had taken him about an hour to compose himself before he could return to look in on Joe. That was what he was doing now. Checking on his remaining brother. As he paused outside the door Adam became aware of a voice coming from inside the room. Thinking perhaps Joe had wakened, he gripped the knob and opened it.

And found Jim Kirk sitting in the chair beside his sleeping, but restless little brother.

"The fever is lower," Kirk said quietly as he rose. "Bones thinks he's past the crisis."

"Bones?"

Kirk smiled as he approached. "It's what I call Doctor McCoy. Short for – "

"Sawbones." He'd tried that with Doc Hickman once. The result wasn't pretty.

The blond man nodded toward the hall. Adam agreed and they stepped outside.

"You're leaving, I hear," Adam said.

"Yes. We need to get back to our time. We..." He drew a breath. "I need to look for Spock."

"I could come with you."

Kirk shook his head. "Your place is here, at your brother's side. At your father's." He grinned. "And with your nephew, _Uncle_ Adam."

He ran a hand along the back of his neck. "It's just, I feel I owe Spock so much. I feel the need to repay him for –"

"You know what Spock would have to say about _that_."

He held Kirk's gaze. "He's a good man."

Jim Kirk agreed. "So are you. So is your brother. I'm...grateful, in spite of everything, that I got to meet you all."

The way Kirk said it, gave it more weight than it deserved. "Any special reason?" he asked.

"No. Nothing special. Just...thanks."

Adam watched Kirk depart and then turned back to his brother's room. He entered and went to sit by Joe's side. There was a bloody bandage around his brother's throat. The doctor had removed the stem that had let him breathe only the day before. It would need to be changed yet again tonight. Adam drew in a deep breath and turned to look around the room that had been Joe's the entire time he had lived at the Ponderosa. He was there now instead of in the wing that he and Anne occupied, as it was easier to look after him. They were there, just like in Hoss' room, stuffed in a blue and white bay rum jar, written in the worry lines of the Indian chief's portrait...

The memories.

"Adam."

His brother's voice was soft. Barely audible.

"Yes, Joe?" he asked, leaning in close.

"Are you..." Joe coughed.

Adam caught him when the fit didn't stop and then gave him some water to drink. "You just keep quiet, Joe. Doctor McCoy said you shouldn't talk much for a few days."

"Have to..."

He shook his head. "Nothing is more important than your health."

A half-smile curled his brother's lips. "This...is."

Adam put the glass down on the bedside table. He caught his brother's shoulder with his hand and said, sternly, in his best Ben Cartwright voice while wagging a finger, "One question, young man, and that's all."

Joe laughed – and coughed again. "Just...one." His brother's green eyes grew moist. "Are you...home?"

Adam glanced around again, hearing the memories whisper along with the wind through the Ponderosa pines. Outside the moon was shining, lighting a land he knew – even now – like the back of his hand. Pa was in the great room, sound asleep in the chair where he had kept vigil for them all night after night, year after year, waiting on three wayward boys to find their way home.

How could he ever leave again?

Adam squeezed his brother's fingers.

"Yes, Joe. I'm home."


	15. Chapter 15 (Part Three Chapter One)

PART THREE - 1964

ONE

"Hey, Mike! You still got that hare-brained notion to go up to Lake Tahoe and scout out tomorrow's shoot?"

The man who portrayed Little Joe Cartwright stared out of the tight cramped location space he laughingly called his dressing room at the mountain of a man blocking the light that might have made it possible for him to find his shirt. He was bare-chested, having just shed the last remnants of the man he pretended to be most days of the week. Little Joe lay in a heap of tan, brown, and green clothes discarded on the floor.

"Wardrobe lady's gonna have your head, short shanks, if you leave those there."

The wardrobe lady was nearly as old as his grandmother. "Maybe I'll give her a roll in them, just to mollify her," he said, his face and voice deadpan.

"If you aren't the _orneriest_ little cuss ever to come to Hollywood," his friend and co-worker sighed. Then with a wink the big man added, "And I do mean 'little'."

It was a long-standing joke between them – the difference in their stature. Dan stood six foot four to his five foot nine and at 300 pounds, outweighed him by about the weight of a gorilla.

"Yeah, but I got _size_ where it counts," he replied.

Dan stared at him and then burst into laughter. As he did, a tall dark figure paused behind him.

"Are you two still at it?" Pernell asked..

"Just some unscripted fun between brothers," Dan remarked. "Want to join in?"

The man who portrayed their older brother Adam shook his head. "Heading home. I advise you two do so as well."

Dan looked at him. "Mike wants to take a look at the shoot area at Incline Village for tomorrow."

The other man frowned. "Whatever for? It's trees and grass."

"Yeah, but I'm the one who has to take a spill _in_ those trees and _on_ that grass," he protested. "I want to check it out. The last fall I did I nearly broke my collar bone."

Pernell's eyebrows rose. "You _could_ let the stunt men do their job, Mike. It's what they get paid for."

They didn't understand. Either of them. He didn't just want to act. He wanted to do it all, experience it all – _understand_ it all.

Michael Landon's lips curled in one of his most devilish smiles. "And _I_ get paid to look handsome and make the ladies swoon. No better way to do that than to fall off a horse and suffer. I want to make sure I do it right."

Pernell was perusing his script. He waved his hand as he walked away. "It's your neck," he sighed.

"You do take a lot of risks, Mike," Dan said quietly. "You sure you want to do your own stunt work?"

It was hard to explain. He didn't want to do it, he _had_ to. There was something in him that drove him to succeed, to prove himself. He snorted as he closed his dressing room door.

In that way, he was much like the youngest Cartwright he portrayed.

Shinnying into his leather jacket, which he wore over a tan shirt and a pair of jeans, he turned and looked at Dan. "Look, you don't have to come with me. Lynn's away with the kids. I have nothing else to do. Dolphia's at home waiting on you."

"I don't want you going out there alone. It's way out on the lot, another fifty miles or so. Something might happen."

Mike made a face and waved his hands in the air while singing the theme to the Twilight Zone. "You're right. A spaceship is going to land and little green men are going to abduct me and take me away with them into outer space." He laughed. "You worry too much."

Dan circled his shoulders with his arm. He cocked his head and favored him with a smile.

"That's what big brothers are for."

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It took about an hour and a half to drive the dusty roads and was dusk by the time they arrived. As usual it took the big man more time to get out of the car than the spunky little fellow who played his kid brother. Mike was a dynamo. He was energy personified and was driven by a need to be accepted and approved of that he figured stemmed from his terrible childhood. Sometimes it made him want to knock some sense into that thick curly-brown head of his. Other times, well, it made him want to cry. He had his own kids. He couldn't imagine treating them the way Mike had been treated.

It was a wonder he'd come through the years of mental and physical abuse without turning into some sort of a monster himself.

They were going to shoot an outdoor scene the next day, where Little Joe came riding in and was shot off his horse. Mike had to fall and roll to a stop. Of course, he insisted on doing it himself. At first the producers had balked at him taking on more and more stunt work – they were worried about that handsome face that had women all across the world swooning getting damaged – but he'd talked them into it and soon had been fighting and falling with the best of the men who made it their profession. The grips had erected a facade of the house nearby as another scene they were going to shoot tomorrow had Joe stumbling up to the house and dropping to the ground before they ran out and found him. It was funny, seeing the Cartwright's ranch house sitting there where it might really have been, the false front looking all too real in the meager light.

Closing the car door behind him, he followed his fellow actor and friend to the field. Mike was walking it, looking at the ground, kneeling every now and then to check a rock or odd bit of raised up ground.

"So what do you think?" he asked as he halted nearby.

"Looks good," he said, rising to his feet. "No rocks so far."

"Only in your head."

Mike looked up at him and then he laughed – that laugh that engaged any and everyone who heard it and made them laugh with him. It was almost a giggle, but not quite. Sometimes it reminded him of the nicker of the high-spirited horses that were such a part of his current world.

"You ready to go then?"

"Almost. I want to check the ground near the house facade as well. Why don't you get back in the car?" he suggested as he rose and pulled his jacket close about his throat. "No point in both of us freezing to death."

It was Autumn and the nights were turning cold. "Okay. But don't be long."

"Oh, right," Mike grinned, "gotta watch out for those little green men." He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure they'll let me send a postcard when we get to Alpha Centauri."

"Why don't you just shut up and do what you're going to do so we can get home?" he grumbled.

Mike waved. "Be there in a minute."

It was the last Dan saw of him.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As the man with the curly brown hair tramped the uneven ground of the Incline Village location, headed for the false front of the Cartwright's home, all sorts of things were flying through his head. He missed his wife and his kids. They'd gone off to visit with Lynn's family and left him alone to rattle around in their empty house. He didn't like being alone. It left him too much time to think. Though the demons of his past had been imprisoned by the man he'd become, they still rattled at the bars of his childhood prison and shrieked to be set free. He knew he was hotheaded, and impatient, and that he played too hard and drank too much. Lynn was trying to change him and he welcomed it, though sometimes he felt it wasn't fair to her. In some ways she had to be the mother he had never had and that bothered him. He'd done that with Dodie and it hadn't worked.

It was _going_ to work with Lynn.

As he arrived at the facade, Mike turned and looked back toward the car. He could hear the radio blasting away and see Dan rocking inside. It made him smile. They were close, all of them, even if Pernell – well, he was a good choice for Adam. Pernell could be aloof and at times a bit of a pain, but they still had some great times.

After casting around, looking at the ground, he headed for the false front door. Acting was a funny profession. You had to see it all in your head, you had to _believe_ it. There were times when he thought, if he opened that door at just the right time, Little Joe Cartwright might be there waiting for him. Crossing to it, he put his hand on the knob and laughed as he began to open it.

The laughter died when a man stepped out of the shadows beside him.

Falling back, he asked, "Who? Who are you?"

The man was lean, with dark hair and dark intense eyes. He was dressed like one of their extras in a tattered long black duster and other worn Western clothes. Extending a trembling hand, he said, "You must come with me."

Mike fell back. He held up his hands even as he glanced toward the car to see if Dan had taken note. "Whoa. I'm not going anywhere with you." He squinted, sizing the other man up and recognizing his symptoms from personal experience. "Friend, you look like you need to go home and sleep it off."

"I have not partaken of any fermented or distilled liquids." The man's voice was flat, his words spoken as if he were reading from a freshly produced script. "The threat is real. You must come with me, Joseph Cartwright."

"Joe? Hey, man, I'm not Joe. My name is –"

The man gripped his arm with unexpectedly strong fingers and for the first time he felt real fear. Struggling against him, Mike turned to call out to Dan.

It was then he felt fingers on his shoulder.

"It is for your own good," the stranger said.

And everything went black.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"I tell you, he was there one minute and gone the next!" Dan Blocker declared. He'd not gone to the police since he wasn't entirely sure Mike wasn't just pranking him. Instead, he'd driven to Lorne's house to get the older man's take on things.

Lorne seemed to be considering everything he had told him. "It does seem a little out of character. I mean, Mike can be a prankster, but his pranks are seldom hurtful."

Dan nodded his head. "I can't really imagine him taking off on foot either. You don't think, well... There are crazy people out there. You know, most fans are great, but there are some..."

"I'm sure he's all right. After all, this is reality and not a television show. I'd give it until morning. See if he shows for work." Lorne snorted. "You know that kid. He could have had a car hidden in the trees."

Dan nodded. And then a shy smile lifted the corner of his lips. "I wonder what Ben and Hoss Cartwright would do if Little Joe just up and disappeared like that right from under their noses?"

Lorne smiled. "There's no need to wonder. They'd ride out with guns blazing."

"It's something, isn't it? What David wants to show – four men, loving each other, protecting each other, and without worrying about what anyone thinks."

"It's something our country needs desperately right now. It only takes a look at the paper, or a half hour watching the news." Behind Lorne, on the television screen, yet another riot was breaking out. He shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder if we will survive as a nation."

Dan was silent a minute. "You think old Ben Cartwright would wonder?"

Lorne's dark eyes fastened on his. "Thank you, Dan."

The big man headed for the door. When he'd reached it and had his hand on the knob, he turned back and said, "You know, I _do_ feel like Hoss. I'm just busting to see that little scamp show up in the morning. But when I do, I'm like to break his neck."

He left to the sound of Lorne's laughter.

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Wherever he was, it was cold. And dark.

Dark without stars or light.

Dark, like the inside of a cave.

He wrinkled his nose. Maybe that was it. He _was_ in a cave. He could smell the earth and feel the dampness seeping through his trousers.

What was he doing in a cave? He'd been scouting out the wooded clearing where he was going to take a fall...

Michael drew in a sharp breath of air. He remembered.

He'd been kidnapped!

"You must remain still," someone said.

He felt like a little kid, waiting on the bogey man to jump out. His heart was pounding and his breath came in short, soft gasps.

"Where am I?"

"You are safe."

Mike's brown brows danced toward the unruly curls layering his forehead. "Safe? How can I be safe?" he asked, his voice rising with his temper. "You _kidnapped_ me!"

"You must modulate your tone. If you do not do so, I shall be forced to render you silent once again."

He swallowed over his fear – and dropped his voice. "Why?"

"I am familiar with your boisterous personality and tendency toward quick unexpected motion. In our current circumstances, neither would be wise to exercise."

He frowned. How come his kidnapper sounded like a Harvard don?

"Who are you?" he asked quietly. "Why did you take me? Why are we here?"

"Are you attempting to outstrip your earlier record for the number of inquiries it is possible to make within the space of a sixty second period?"

Was that...a _smile_ he heard in that question?

"As to your second query," the man went on, "I am attempting to protect you from outside forces which wish you harm. As to why we are here – in this cave – I..." He stopped. Michael heard a sharp intact of breath. "...I have to... _must..._ keep you safe. This was the only approximate locale I could find."

He waited. "And my first question?"

There was a pause. As if the man was truly confused. "You do not know me?"

"I can't _see_ you!" he spat back.

He heard the man rise. Heard him walk across the cave floor and felt him at his side. A moment later a light appeared. He blinked it away at first it hurt his eyes so much, but then a few seconds later looked up and into the man's face.

Michael gasped.

He'd found his little green man.

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James T. Kirk found solid ground suddenly under his feet. He glanced around, noting the inky night sky with its crystal clear stars and the tall whispering Ponderosa pines and sighed. He was more than ready to get back to the steady sure method of transport he was used to – and to cease traveling through time. This was the last stop. Well, he _hoped_ it was the last stop.

The Guardian said it was.

Sometimes he had a hard time remembering what time he was or _had_ been in. While he hadn't joined Spock one his initial trip to eighteen-seventy six, he'd been to eighteen-sixty four, back to twenty-two-sixty-eight, _then_ to eighteen-seventy-six, finally arriving here, on Earth, in _nineteen_ -sixty-four. He'd been surprised when the Guardian's images had run past the lives and deaths of the Cartwrights and their children and continued right on up to the same time period he had visited with Major John Christopher. He'd been even more surprised to find that – in one of those inexplicable eddies of time – the idea and ideals of the Cartwrights had transcended time and still existed in a TV show, of all things, depicting their extraordinary lives. The producer, a man named Dortort, must have read the historical record and fashioned the show on what information and antique photos he found there. The images the Guardian showed him were remarkable. The resemblance of the cast members to the actual men was uncanny. Oh, they were not nearly so rugged or, in reality, weather-beaten and worn as the actual Cartwright clan, but – if one didn't know better – they could easily be mistaken one for the other.

Kirk sighed again and then scowled. It was getting to be a habit.

Unfortunately, at the moment, Spock wasn't capable of knowing which was which.

The blond man ran a hand over his face. The last image the Guardian had shown him – one that had altered the historical record – was of a newspaper detailing the kidnapping and death of one of the lead characters on Bonanza. The bright young star with so much potential had mysteriously vanished from a shooting location one night and been found the next morning at the bottom of a cliff near Lake Tahoe.

It was Michael Landon, who played Little Joe.

While Landon's passing did not change the historical timeline in large ways, it seemed to in small ones that were significant. Apparently the man, when older, had been a force for good. Also apparent was his love of ladies so like the character he portrayed. Kirk smiled. Nine kids! Not all of them biologically his, but all of them reared with his unique idea of what a man or woman's place was in the world. Those kids and their kids had contributed after his untimely death from cancer at age 54.

They had contributed a _lot_.

Kirk drew a breath and then turned to the kit he carried. This time, Prime Directive be _damned_ , he'd brought a phaser, a communicator, _and_ a tricorder altered to work on radio waves. He also had a pack McCoy had supplied him with that contained medical equipment, including bandages and other items plus the remedy for Spock's madness. It was the same as the inoculation against the time manipulator's venom that Bones had injected him with before he left. It rendered the poison harmless.

The Guardian had set him down the day before the body was discovered, which meant he had less than twenty-four hours to find Spock and the actor and somehow convince his out-of-his-mind Vulcan friend that Michael Landon _wasn't_ Little Joe Cartwright – that he'd already saved Cartwright back in eighteen-seventy-six and he should let the actor go.

The fact that Landon's broken body had been found at the bottom of a cliff suggested that his death had been an accident. They'd discussed it in the briefing room before he went down to Gateway and the others had agreed. Like the real man who'd inspired his character, Landon was reputed to be quick-tempered and a bit reckless. The fall suggested Spock was holding the young man somewhere high in the hills, maybe in a cave. Something had happened. Something that had made him fall.

Something _he_ had to stop.

Kirk glanced about, making sure he was alone, and then opened the tricorder and scanned the area, looking for a non-human signature.

There were two.

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"So what are you going to do with me?"

The light was gone and they were in the dark again. It was easier that way. Looking at the man who held him had been like watching an episode of Outer Limits. Odd. Unnerving.

Frightening.

"I will...protect you."

"You keep sayin that. What do I need protected from?" Other than _you_ , he thought.

"Theron...he... He is still out there."

He'd mentioned that name before. "Who's Theron?"

There was the sound of boots turning sharply on dirt. So he was standing. "I...do not understand."

Mike rolled his eyes. That made t _wo_ of them! Still, slowly, his fear of anything happening to him was fading. It was obvious the man wasn't right in the head. Maybe he was a fan who had escaped from a mental institute.

"I don't know who Theron is," he said, keeping his tone even. "I don't know you and I don't know why you think you have to protect me. The only one threatening me is _you_."

Again, a pause. "I do not threaten. I...guard. It is...my duty."

 _That_ was a new wrinkle. "Are you army or something?"

"Federation," he said as if that explained it all.

"Okay." Mike sucked in air. "How about a name? What's your name?"

"You do not recall it?"

It came out slowly in a sigh. "No. No, I don't." After a second he asked, "How about you do something for me."

"Yes?"

"You tell me _my_ name."

The man shifted again, almost as if he was uneasy.

"You do not know who you are?"

"Yes, I know who I am," he huffed. "I want you to tell me who _you_ think I am."

"You are the man upon whom the future world depends," his kidnapper said, his voice even but his words reviving those fears, "you are Joseph Francis Cartwright of the Ponderosa and it is my mission to save you – whether you desire it or not."


	16. Chapter 16 (Part Three Chapter Two)

TWO

It was morning and Mike was a no-show.

Dan sighed. He'd consulted with Lorne the moment they knew and then with David and they'd decided it was time to call in the police. The Paramount brass refused. While squad cars _should_ have been flying onto the lot, their sirens wailing, the soundstage was instead deadly still. The big guys said they had to make sure it wasn't one of Mike's pranks first and then, if it wasn't, get their shit together before calling it in. 'You know, Dan', they'd said, 'once the press knows that Little Joe Cartwright has gone missing, they'll descend like vultures and it will be all over the news'. They hadn't been able to get hold of Lynn yet, or any of Mike's relatives so he kind of agreed. Still, something had to be done.

His _friend_ was missing.

Work had shut down for the day and the producers had told them all to go home. The three of them had hung around to see if there was anything they could do. Lorne had just gone for his coat. As he joined them, with it dangling off his arm, he sighed.

"It's like something out of one of the episodes. It doesn't seem real."

Dan ran a hand over his bald pate and exchanged a glance with the older man. He could see it in Lorne's eyes as well. They might only pretend to be kin, but in the ways that counted, they _were._ The four of them were close. They cared deeply about each other.

And just like the Cartwrights they felt a need to protect their own.

As Pernell joined them, he remarked, "It doesn't seem right."

"What's that?" Lorne asked.

The dark-haired man's lips twisted in that determined smile he used to such advantage as the oldest Cartwright son. "If they won't do it. We need to do it ourselves," he said quietly, expressing it for the rest of them.

Ten minutes later, after some debate, they headed for Incline Village.

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Mike stirred and opened his eyes, only then realizing he'd fallen asleep. He stretched and looked for the other man. When he did, he realized there was a bare bit of light showing off in the distance. He decided it must be the opening into the cave. He'd been in enough of them while filming to recognize that the kidnapper hadn't brought him in _too_ deep. With his eyes grown so used to the dark that the pale light was like an open lantern, he was able to discern the size and shape of the man who was holding him. He was a lean fellow, probably six feet or over, with shaggy dark hair and a ragged beard. He was dressed as a Wild West doctor or maybe a gunslinger in a tattered black suit with a long duster. His abductor moved with a wild restless energy, pacing back and forth before the cave maw, muttering to himself.

It almost sounded like he was working equations.

Shifting, Michael repositioned himself more comfortably against the cavern wall. He was cold and aching and _really_ hungry.

He watched the man another minute or so and then called out. "What's for breakfast?"

The stranger halted and turned toward him. "I had forgotten your need for immediate sustenance. I will endeavor to locate something suitable."

 _Sustenance?_ There he went again.

"I'll come with you," he said, starting to rise.

"That would not be...prudent. You must remain here."

Michael stifled a sigh. Then he had a thought. This man believed him to be Little Joe. There was no w _ay_ Ben Cartwright's youngest son would accept that.

"Like _Hell_ I will!" he shot back. "I'm coming with you."

The stranger shifted again. He shook his head. "I cannot protect you."

"How's leavin' me here alone gonna protect me better?" he countered, easily falling into Joe's manner of speech. "What are you gonna do? Tie me up? _Leave_ me here alone? That's just like making a can out of me to sit on a fence and be shot!"

He felt bad. Obviously the man had mental problems. He didn't like playing with him like this, but then, what else did he have to work with?

"Your logic..is...impeccable."

His brows popped.

That was the first time anyone had ever told him _that._

"We will...go together," the stranger said, "but you must make a vow to remain close to me and not endeavor to escape. There is...danger."

Yeah, there was. And he knew _who_ it was coming from.

Crossing his fingers behind his back, Mike replied.

"You got my word."

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Kirk had been walking for some time and he still had, perhaps, a half hour before he would reach the area with the alien signatures. With the tricorder working on radio waves, the information he could access was limited He guessed one of them was Spock, but the other – so readily identified in the twenty-third century – was just a non-human blip in this one. It could be anything from Orion to Klingon.

Or maybe another of the Originators.

He didn't think Theron had a partner, but then it was impossible to know. Whoever it was had come back in time so that limited the field.

Another ten minutes walk brought the blond man to the base of a high hill. A narrow natural stair wound up its side. At the top there was rock – a lot of it – and some of it jutting out over the land below. Going with the intuitive feeling he had, that this was ' _it_ ', James T. Kirk anchored the tricorder over his shoulder, flipped the machine to his back, and began to climb.

"This is the last place you saw him?"

Dan nodded. "Sure is." The other two followed him. "Right over here by the house facade."

"The ground's dry," Lorne said. "See if you can find any prints."

Pernell was already crouching. Suddenly he looked up and laughed. "You know, we're acting like we know what we're doing."

Dan laughed too. "Well, that's what we are, isn't it? Actors?"

The black-haired man nodded. "I guess something has to have rubbed off after six years in the saddle."

"Do you see anything?" their TV pa asked, bringing them back to the business at hand.

Pernell stood up and dusted off his pants. "There are prints. Two sets besides Dan's. One long and narrow, the other the same, but smaller."

"Like short-shanks might leave?" the big man asked, the worry ringing even in his own ears.

"Um-hm."

"We should call the police."

Both he and Pernell turned and looked at Lorne. "There's nothing to tell them yet," Pernell said. "These could have been made by anyone."

"Or by Michael and his...kidnapper." The older man sighed. "Let's face it. We're tampering with evidence here."

Dan pursed his lips and blew out a sigh. "I know what you're saying is right, here." He touched his head. Then his heart. "But _this_ isn't hearing it. I... I feel responsible. I just gotta keep looking."

Pernell nodded. "You know, many's the days I've wanted to shake some sense into that kid and I'll admit I've had a few where I wished 'Pa' would send Little Joe off to college." He grinned and then sobered quickly. "But I agree with Dan. I just...feel responsible for him somehow."

The older man looked from one of the them to the other. "Older heads should prevail, but it seems younger ones shall. All right. We'll follow the tracks. Just be sure you don't disturb anything."

Dan nodded. There was only one thing he was going to 'disturb'.

That was the head of the man who done kidnapped his little brother.

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Mike had been nearly blinded when they left the cave. In fact, he was still blinking away tears and that made his vision fuzzy. It was early in the morning and this high up a mist clung to the land. It made their passage treacherous, but also provided him with what he needed – _cover_ to make an escape attempt. At the moment he was trailing close behind the man who had taken him. There wasn't much up here, but they'd managed to find a few roots and berries and the like. Enough at least to keep his stomach from growling. A cool mountain spring had provided a drink to wash them down. If he'd had Lynn and the kids with him, it would have been a beautiful day.

As it was, it was filled with uncertainty.

He thought he knew where they were and it was not too far from the location site. Instead of moving out, the kidnapper had moved up into the hills. They'd talked about using this area once for outside shots, but it had proven too much for the heavy equipment to manage. There was a cliff here...somewhere...

Somewhere in the mist.

As they stopped and the man who held him bent to the ground once again, Michael said, "You still haven't told me your name."

The man stood and turned, some greens in his hand. "And you still have not remembered?"

He thought hard. It had to be someone 'Joe' would know and not him. Thinking furiously, he filed through his memories of past episodes but nothing stood out. There was no long lean, slightly greenish-skinned, black-haired man in a battered imitation of a Doc Holliday suit.

He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Sorry. No."

"Perhaps the blow to the head you took while you were being held in the mine."

So...a _mining_ episode. "Were you in 'The Henry Comstock Story'?" he asked, hopeful.

There it was again – the inward breath but no audible sigh. "My name is Spock."

His brown brows danced. "Like... _Doctor_ Spock?"

The kidnapper's near-black eyes fixed on him. "I endeavor to leave those things medical to the ship's physician. Simply Spock."

So his name was Spock. He was very unusual looking. He'd caught a glimpse of the tips of his ears and they were...pointed. His brows slashed upward like an incline and his hair, well, it was black, but it was _so_ black it was almost blue.

And he was a...sailor?

Bending, he worked haphazardly at gathering more of the greens. "So where's home, Spock?"

Again that _look_. "It would be better if I did not say."

"Not from around here, eh?" he snorted.

"No."

Squinting his eyes, hoping to see through the mist, the brown-haired man nodded toward a plot of grass a few yards away that was thick with it. "I think I see some more over there."

Spock nodded absently and looked away. "Please endeavor to remain some ways back from the cliff's edge."

So it was here. The cliff and the natural stair he remembered leading down it.

Somewhere.

Energized by the discovery, Mike tossed off a quick 'will do' and then moved into the mist, feeling just a twinge of guilt for doing precisely what he'd promised he would not. It was obvious Spock took him at his word as he had given him pretty free range since they'd left the cave. As the mist swallowed him, Mike's pace slowed. He tried to feel his way with his feet, but it wasn't easy. That was another bit of experience he had, from filming 'Between Heaven and Earth.' He hadn't done the tricky stuff, but he'd been high enough to reinforce his more than healthy respect for heights.

He grinned. That's what a _real_ man called 'fear'.

Moving forward, carefully, he held his hands out before his face like he'd been taught to do by the blind teacher in another episode where Joe had lost his sight.1 It really did help and kept him from bumping into branches and other things sticking out into his path. Just as he heard Spock call his name – well, _Joe's_ name – he ran into something rough that did not give way. He frowned as his fingers explored it. It felt like mesh – metal mesh – with some sort of thickly-woven cloth beneath. Maybe it was a tree with really weird bark. Or maybe...

Maybe it was someone with a gun.

Michael fell back as a figure stepped out of the mist. He was a tall man and looked by his bone structure to be part Native American. His skin was tanned, his hair and eyes dark. He was wearing some sort of a uniform with a gray duster thrown over it.

"Who...who are you?" he stammered.

"I am Ba'Or of the House of Kahnrah. You and your companion have made our shame complete." A sneer lifted his lip as he brandished the weapon.

"Now I will make _you_ no more."

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Dan stood with his head tilted as far back as it would go, looking up at the high ridge that jutted out of the side of the rocky hill before them.

"What do you guys think?" he asked.

Pernell's hazel eyes followed his. "I think we're nuts."

He pointed to the ground. "The trail leads right to here and then disappears."

They'd long ago forgotten about guarding the integrity of the signs they followed. They'd hit a patch of ground where the footsteps were so clear it would have been hard not to have spotted them. If someone had taken Mike they weren't doing anything to hide their tracks.

Which was a worry in itself.

Lorne had joined him. He was looking up too, shielding his eyes against the rising sun that was beginning to burn the mist off.

"If I remember right, Michael is afraid of heights."

They'd all watched him when they filmed that show about Little Joe and Eagle's Nest.2 True to the character he portrayed, Mike had stubbornly climbed a heck of a lot farther up the rocky ridge that day than a man with that kind of phobia should.

"If someone took him, he'd have had little choice. Fear or not," Pernell said quietly.

"Wait a minute," Dan said, squinting into the rising light that made the mist glow even as it evaporated. He pointed. "Up there! I saw something move."

As they often did in the show, the three formed a line and stood together looking up.

"There's a man climbing!" Lorne declared.

"Above that. Look!" Excitement laced with fear colored Pernell's baritone lifting it to a medium tenor. "Near the edge of the cliff."

Dan took a step back and angled his neck. "Damn!" he cursed. "I think those are Mike's boots and he's right on the edge!"

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Jim Kirk stood with his back pressed against the rocky wall of the narrow winding stair that cut into the mountainside. He'd been just about to emerge on top when the sound of voices directly above his head stopped him and dropped him down out of sight. Two of them he didn't recognize, but he knew the third. He'd know that cultured, seemingly unruffled voice anywhere.

It was Spock.

At least the Vulcan wasn't raving like the last time he'd seen him back in eighteen-seventy-six just after Theron had injected the full load of venom from one of the time manipulators into him. Kirk closed his eyes briefly in order to dismiss the vision of his stoic, self-controlled first officer writhing in the grass, screaming like a lunatic. Bones has said that once the poison was in his system it would slowly become a norm. Due to his Vulcan physiology, it wouldn't kill him, but it would slowly and quietly drive him insane. The antidote he carried would halt its progress.

Bones didn't know if they could fully reverse the effects. The odds, he said, didn't look good.

Before going to Gateway Kirk had met with the Starfleet top brass and explained things as well as he could. They'd reluctantly recalled the warrant for Spock's arrest and rescinded almost all of the charges against him, though there were still a few minor ones he was going to have to face.

Anyhow, he had sent the new first officer packing, long odds or not.

Now, as he clung to the cliff-face and listened, he tried to imagine who was there besides Spock and the missing actor. Whoever it was, was no doubt the one giving off the other alien signature. He'd wracked his brains and the only possibility he could come up with was the other Klingon – Brewer or Ba'Or – the one who had been ordered along with Drax to assist Curran Theron. Scotty had taken a look at one of the time manipulators and told him he thought they were attuned to one another so that when history shifted, their data-bank of memory stored the shift. In that way the Klingon could have found Spock. Ba'Or had run as the explosives went off. That was the act of a coward, something the Klingon could not admit and hope to go home to anything other than being put on kitchen duty or sent out to hunt [i]prickle mice. [/i]

For a Klingon warrior there could be no greater disgrace than to have been outsmarted by humans and a Vulcan.

Shifting slightly, Kirk looked up the ridge and was rewarded by pebbles striking him in the face. As the blond man pulled back to avoid the rest of the shower, he cursed.

A set of boots dangled, almost off the edge, and they didn't look like anything out of a shop on Qo'noS.

"Come closer, Vulcan, and he dies!" Ba'Or roared.

Spock blinked. He didn't know what was wrong. It was as if his thought processes as well as the body they drove were impaired. He had seen the Klingon step close to Joseph Cartwright, watched as they came face to face and Ba'Or reached out, but he had failed to move. _Failed_ to take action.

Now it was too late.

Ba'Or's gloved hand encircled the throat of Ben Cartwright's youngest son as Theron's had before, increasing pressure as he spoke. Joseph was not quite dangling, but his feet barely brushed the ground and his fingers were working frantically at the Klingon's hand in an attempt to dislodge it. Logic dictated this was futile. His human strength could not prevail. Therefore...

Therefore...

"Why do you stand and do nothing, Vulcan? Do you wish to watch him die?"

Joe's eyes rolled his way and then rolled back up into his head as his body went slack.

As before, he had less than three minutes.

"How is the honor of the House Kahnrah served by the death of a human male who has not been faced in battle?" Spock demanded, breathing and thinking hard, doing his best to employ Vulcan mind disciplines to overcome the chaos and fatigue that sought to drag him down into a pool of disorder and confusion. "You have his throat. Do you intend to crush it? What are human bones to you? It would be like battling a _racht._ Only a weakling would threaten a worm who _has_ no bones." He paused. "Again where is your honor, Ba'Or of Kahnrah?" The Vulcan moved haltingly forward. "This man is my _maqoch_.3 What is done to him is done to me."

Ba'Or did not release Joe, but he lowered him until the young man's feet touched the ground. "You will die for him?"

Determination shone from his near-black eyes. "I will _die_ for him."

Ba'Or stared at him for several heartbeats and then threw his head back and roared. Seconds later his fingers opened and Joseph Cartwright slid to the ground unconscious.

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Kirk held his breath. From what McCoy told him, Spock was in no shape to take on a lightweight prize fighter, let alone a Klingon warrior in his prime.

He had to do something.

Looking up again, the blond man spotted the same pair of boots hanging just over the edge of the cliff, only they were horizontal this time. He climbed up a few feet and dared to look over the edge. Spock was backing up, retreating before Ba'Or. Did his friend know he was here? Or was his first officer simply trying to put as much space between the fallen actor and his would-be-assassin as he could? With an eye to the pair, Kirk reached up and caught the young man around the hips and began to draw him down. The ledge was narrow, so it took some maneuvering, but finally he had him and propped his unconscious form against the rocks. Making sure he was well anchored before doing so, Kirk began to ascend once again.

He had to save Spock.

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"What's happening?" Lorne called softly from the ground. Like Ben Cartwright was so many times, he'd been left to watch as his television sons climbed the narrow ledge, ascending into danger to see if it was indeed their actor 'brother' whose boots had been hanging off the side of the high cliff. He'd been able to keep track of Pernell and Dan for the first few minutes, but then the trees had shifted to the outside of the path and they'd vanished behind a screen of green leaves. He wanted to call out to them again, but they all knew stealth was imperative. If it _was_ Mike – and if someone _had_ taken him – then his life could be in danger.

Lorne snorted. The next time he portrayed Ben Cartwright impatiently waiting on word of one of his missing boys, he's have a lot of resource material to call on!

A minute later he saw Pernell's dark head break above the tree line. Dan was close behind him. They were moving. Then they stopped. Then they went down and out of sight.

Lorne's white eyebrows met in the middle. " _Damn!"_ he said at last.

And began to climb.

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Kirk had shifted into a covering of leaves at the top of the ridge. He watched as Spock and the Klingon began to circle one another. Due to the Vulcan's shaming of him, Ba'Or would feel it necessary to kill Spock with his bare hands.

That gave him an advantage.

Silently opening the kit he wore, Kirk pulled out his phaser. He set it to high stun and then moved, circling around in order to end up to the aft side of Spock where he'd have a clearer shot. His friend was moving slowly, almost as if in a dream. There was none of the panther-like grace he had come to associate with the Vulcan – nothing to suggest the speed and agility he knew Spock was capable of. His friend was too thin. He was unkempt. Valleys of a sickly green surrounded his once keen eyes, and his skin was the color of paste.

And _still_ Spock was going to fight. _Still_ , he was going to fulfill his mission to save Joe Cartwright – to save _him_ – even if it killed him.

Once in place Kirk looked for an opportunity to fire.

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Spock was breathing hard; a physical reaction he had only rare acquaintance with and found most unpleasant. The resulting lack of oxygen drove a green mist before his eyes, altering both his mental and physical state, rendering him weak and unable to think clearly. His dark eyes sought the man he had to protect even as he took another step back, intent on drawing the Klingon away from his intended victim.

His victim...

His...

Spock's gaze dropped to the matted grass near the cliff's edge. It was empty.

He faltered.

He'd been there. Someone had been there.

Joe?

Jim...

"So, you surrender Vulcan. You are wise," Ba'Or snarled as he advanced. "Death will come more quickly that way."

Spock blinked and staggered back, his eyes riveted the that empty space of ground. He had a mission. There _was_ a mission.

 _What_ was his mission?

Jim. It had been to save Jim. But first, he had to save...

"Joe?" It came out as a strangled gasp.

The Klingon was mere feet away. He held no weapon. He needed none. He had removed his gloves and his scarred fingers were reaching out, flexing, seeking tender bones to crush.

Ba'Or almost had him when the Klingon halted. Suspicion lit his feral eyes. With the look of an animal scenting danger, he pivoted on his heel.

A second later he turned back with a roar. " _What have you done with him, Vulcan?"_

The equation was flawed as the question. He had done nothing.

Nothing.

Why had he done nothing? Why couldn't he remember what he was to have done?

What he had done...

Spock's near-black eyes lit with real fear.

Something was desperately wrong with his mind.

Ba'Or remained still for several beats of Spock's Vulcan heart, staring at him, and then the Klingon warrior launched himself forward with the power and strength of a desert _sehlat_ , a death cry on his lips. Spock braced himself for the impact.

It never came.

Instead there was a high-pitched whine. Spock saw the Klingon's eyes widen with surprise. Then, suddenly, dawn broke over the forested land, bathing them both in a rich red glow.

As he fell, Spock had an errant thought.

His mother should have been here.

She so loved the sunrise.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Dan! Dan!" Pernell called. "Here!"

The big man's head came up. "What have you got?"

"Mike! I've got Mike!"

Those were just about the sweetest words he'd ever though he heard. Hastening to follow, Dan called out, "Where?"

"On the trail. Just above you." There was pause. "He's unconscious."

 _Unconscious?_

"Dan?" their TV father's voice called. "Dan, what did Pernell say?"

He turned and saw Lorne's white head advancing up the trail. "He's got Mike!" he called down.

That head looked like the hind end of a white-tailed deer it was coming up so fast.

Turning back Dan started his own climb again. It took less than a minute before he nearly stumbled over Pernell, who was kneeling in the middle of the path. He had his hand out and was gently tapping Mike's cheek.

"Mike? Michael! Can you hear me?"

His voice was shaking. Dan wondered why. Then he noticed the red marks on Mike's throat.

"Good God!" he heard Lorne exclaim behind him.

Pernell was looking up at him. "Do you think we should move him?"

Dan wasn't sure why everyone was looking to him, but they were. "Can you tell if anything is broken?"

The black-haired man shook his head. "I don't think so. I checked."

The big man drew in a breath and let it out slowly.

"Then you just get out of my way and I'll see what I can do about getting little brother somewhere safe."

Lorne had already begun his descent. Pernell, with an eye to the edge of the path, slipped past him and did the same. Stepping over Mike's silent form, the big man moved to the other side and then knelt and gently lifted him and laid his still form across one shoulder. Then, as if carrying a precious Ming urn, he began his descent.

About halfway down a sound stopped him. A funny sound that had no place in the wilderness. It was a high-pitched whine that grated on the nerves, something like a tornado siren. Dan looked up and for just a second there was a flash of light that hurt his eyes.

Then it was gone.

"Dan! Are you coming? We can hear sirens. The studio must have finally called the police!" Pernell shouted.

As he arrived at the bottom and laid Mike on the ground, he heard Lorne make a 'tsk-ing' noise with his tongue.

"What's that?" the big man asked even as he gently touched his television brother's cheek.

"Nothing."

Mike was starting to stir. Those green eyes were just next to opening. It looked like he was going to be all right.

Lorne didn't miss it. He shook his head and then, in spite of everything, laughed.

"Now what on God's green earth do you find funny?" Pernell demanded.

"I was just thinking about the ratings," the older man said. "This adventure would have blown them through the roof!"

1 The Stillness Within

2 Between Heaven and Earth

3 Klingon for 'close male friend'


	17. Chapter 17 Epilogue

EPILOGUE

1876

"Come in, Adam."

His brother's voice was so soft, he wasn't sure he'd heard it. Opening the door just a bit further Adam peered inside. "Am I intruding?"

Joe pursed his lips as his eyes lit with joy. "Anne's sleeping in the next room. Come on in."

They'd had an adventure the night before – a joyful one – one that had culminated in the arrival of the tiny bundle of humanity nestled in the crook of his brother's arm.

It was a boy, sure enough, just as Anne had said.

Eric Benjamin Cartwright.

Adam tiptoed over and looked down. He whistled softly. "He's got as much hair as you."

Joe nodded. "'Cept it's blond as Anne's."

The boy's curly head was a mix of yellows, dark as amber and pale as wheat. "He's beautiful," Adam said, adding without missing a beat. " _Definitely_ takes after his mother."

His brother laughed. "You know, I can't believe he's here."

They were in the sitting room of the wing of the house their Pa had given to Joe and Anne. Adam grabbed a chair and pulled it up and then sat there looking at the pair. He knew exactly what Joe meant. Though four months had passed since the events that had unfolded upon his return, he could still hardly believe Joe was here – alive and whole. He'd been so sick back in seventy-four with encephalitis, and what he'd suffered at Theron Vance's hands had brought it all back. For a time Adam feared he'd come home to be the _only_ Cartwright son. The responsibility weighed on him and his own fears had risen up like a tide, trying desperately to tear him away. His father was old. Who knew how long he had. Joe, well, if Joe was gone then it was almost as if he had taken a wife. He'd have to care for Anne and Carrie and...

Eric.

He'd have to be Joe and Ben rolled into one.

In the middle of the night, in his darkest despair, he heard the sirens call and remembered the ebon swells glinting with diamond dust stars and for a moment he wished he was there again, going where no one had gone before.

But for just a moment.

He'd done another thing in the middle of the night. He'd come in and knelt by his brother's bed and prayed to be half the man Joe was.

Only half and it was enough.

They'd taken turns with Joe up until the last few weeks. Once Anne was great with child, the Doc told her she needed to go to bed herself for the sake of her child. He and Pa took turns carrying her in and sitting with her, stepping out when they could to give the couple time alone. Joe was mending slowly. The worst of it was the weakness. About a week before they'd gotten him to sit up on his own for the first time. After that, his brother seemed to seize on that small victory, pushing himself, quickly growing strong enough to visit his wife in _her_ room.

Then one night Joe had come sliding down the staircase, hanging on for dear life to the railing, his eyes wide and his silver-gray hair flying wild. Anne's water had broke. She was in labor. Doc Martin was called and, as a small blessing to all of them who had suffered and lost so much, Eric Benjamin Cartwright made a perfect entrance into the world.

"So who do you think he's going to take after?" Adam asked, a smile twisting his lips. "Hoss or Pa?"

Joe's eyes were bright. "You, big brother," he said.

"Me?"

Joe smiled. "He'll have the soul of a seeker, the mind of a scholar, the strength and hands of a man, and..." His brother's green eyes held his hazel ones. "...a hint of mystery."

They'd never talked about it. What had happened. Where he had been or what he had been doing while he was there. He'd never explained how he 'd remained so young. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but...

Home.

"No," the black-haired man said, reaching out toward his nephew who caught hold of his finger and drew it hungrily toward his mouth, "there's no mystery to it.

"It's called love."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

2269

Jim Kirk stood outside his first officer's door, waiting for silent permission to enter as he so often did. When it came as a whisper in his mind, he touched the wall panel and the door slid open. Anticipating his request, the Vulcan had modified the temperature of his room to where it was...almost...pleasant. Spock had also anticipated another need.

Two glasses sat on his desk, filled with an amber liquid.

"Been raiding McCoy's 'medicine' cabinet, have we?"

Spock sat as he often did, with his index fingers forming a steeple and resting on his lips. He released a breath of air as he dropped them to his lap and straightened up.

"I had a sense you would have need of it."

"You're going to make Bones jealous with that talent of yours," he said as he took a seat opposite the Vulcan and reached for the glass. Holding it up, he saluted and took a sip. When he did, his eyes lit up. "Does Bones know you took the _good_ stuff?"

"I left a bottle of Vulcan Spice tea in exchange."

It was there in spite of Spock's protestations. A wry wit. There was no denying it.

Kirk took another sip and then leaned back in his chair. "So have you divined the cause of my present mood as well?"

"You have un answered questions," his friend replied.

"Regarding?"

"My choices."

Kirk swallowed another sip, relishing the inner warmth the liquor produced even though, combined with Spock's recreated Vulcan atmosphere, it made him a little dizzy. It had been about a month since the events that had transpired on Earth. They'd battled first for Spock's life and then, for his sanity. That day on the hilltop in 1964, he'd been forced to stun both his friend and Ba'Or, who'd rushed the Vulcan with murder in his eyes. The blast had weakened Spock's already weak system and it had been touch and go for a good while. After Bones was sure he would live, it had taken the best scientists and doctor's in Starfleet to figure out how to flush the Originator's venom from Spock's system. And then it had taken Ambassador Sarek to reach his son and restore him to sanity.

That had been a day.

Once Spock was out of danger, the next battle was the one against Starfleet to get his record wiped clean and the Vulcan officially reinstated as first officer on the Enterprise. Among other things, Professor Beckett – who carried a good deal of weight – had lodged a formal complaint against the Vulcan for the theft of the original manipulator and his university had to be...compensated with a special grant to visit Gateway in order to get him to withdraw it.

As to the ramifications on Earth and in the past, they'd been, well, interesting. Starfleet had ordered that a cordon be established around the Bodie mine to keep any alien species from acquiring the time manipulators buried there. It effected the nervous system and made anyone who touched anything that came from within ten miles of the mine feel ill.

Thus the rumors of a Bodie curse.

In the end Spock had gotten a slap on the wrist for acting without orders – forced time away – which the Vulcan had gleefully spent diving into some long-delayed research, but that had been it. They'd come back to the Enterprise, life and duty had crowded in, and things had returned to normal.

Well, almost.

"You have not come to peace with my choice to act on my own regarding the events in nineteenth century Nevada, nor with those events themselves," Spock said when he said nothing. "As a result, our relationship has been strained."

Had it? He hadn't realized it, not until McCoy had pointed out how he had been avoiding the Vulcan.

"Sorry, Spock." Jim sat the glass down on the desk. "I am sorry. I really don't know what it is." He shrugged and his smile was chagrinned. "I don't like to be left out?"

Spock nodded. "Precisely."

"What?"

The Vulcan shifted. "It is your belief that my choice not to consult you before journeying into the past is an indication that your input was not necessary. On the contrary, it was _you_ who were necessary to the time and plane of existence we now occupy and therefore not expendable. It was to insure your continued existence that I made the choices I did."

"I'm not that petty, Spock," he said, slightly indignant.

"Not 'petty', no, but...human. There is within the human creature a desire to know that its life is useful. That it will be missed when it is gone."

Jim frowned. "'It' being _me_?"

"In the abstract."

"So you think," he began, "that I'm in a blue funk because I felt you didn't need me?"

One ink-slash eyebrow peaked. "A 'blue funk'?"

"Look it up." Kirk rose and began to move about the room. "Part of it is what you say, Spock, but there's something more. I feel... I don't know. Out of control like I have no – "

"Control over your own destiny?"

He stopped. "Maybe."

Spock finally sighed. "This is another reason I did not consult you before taking action."

"What 'reason'?"

"Jim, you pride yourself on being a self-made man; a man of keen intellect and decisive action based on experience. I was aware that it would be...uncomfortable for you to realize how much of what you are was written into your genetic code long ago."

He knew all about genetics. He'd been through all the tests when he joined the Academy and the statisticians had tried to pigeon-hole his course based on what they found. He'd ignored them and forged the man he was today. Except, he hadn't. Not really.

It was hard to deny your ancestor's influence when you were looking him in the face.

"You are thinking of Ben Cartwright, and of his youngest son."

He nodded as he dropped back into the chair. "It was startling," he had to admit, "realizing just how much of what I am came from them."

" _Through_ them, Jim."

Spock's use of his personal name always made him pay attention. "What do you mean?"

"We are creatures of choice. What is written into our genetic code may be acted upon or denied. This was Curran Theron's aim, to...alter your choices."

A strong-willed man could be a force for good or evil. What was reckless to some was courage to others. If a man was stubborn that could mean he would not bend, but then again, it could just mean he was not willing to compromise.

He'd seen it in the Cartwrights, in Ben and his boys.

He saw it now in himself.

"I feel sorry for him in a way."

The peaked eyebrow tried to climb higher. "Theron?"

Jim nodded. "He had all of time and space and yet his world was so small."

"Indeed."

Kirk rose then. He started for the door. A second later, he turned back. "You haven't touched your drink."

Spock's lip curled in that half-smile that was only his. "I believe I shall save it for when the good doctor comes to retrieve his bottle. I understand it is a good mixer with Vulcan Spice tea."

Kirk laughed so hard he nearly split the seams of his regulation shirt.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

1964

"Hey, Mike. How you feeling?"

His costar was sitting slouched in a chair. Mike 's curly brown head was barely visible above the book he was reading. Dan bent down to read the title. "The Man Who Fell to Earth." The big man straightened up. "Somehow I didn't see you as a science fiction type. Romance, maybe?"

Mike lowered the book and glared at him.

They'd managed to keep the whole episode where he'd disappeared out of the press. It had taken some maneuvering since the police had been called in. In the end he and Lorne and Pernell had accepted Mike's explanation that he'd been on a bender and his sense of humor had gotten out of control. It wasn't the truth. They all knew it.

Even though they didn't know what the truth really was.

"They're ready for you, Mister Landon, Mister Blocker," one of the director's assistant's said.

Dan slapped the bottom of Mike's shoe. "Come on, short-shanks. Time to dazzle the ladies."

Mike stretched and then stood, placing the book on his chair. He scratched his head and then ran a hand along the back of his neck. "You know, Dan, I've been thinking I might try my hand at script writing. Maybe making my own show."

"Really?"

"I mean, how hard can it be to create a TV series?"

Dan's eyebrows popped. "Don't you go letting David hear you say that," he snorted.

"Oh, I wasn't thinking about a western. More of a, wagon train to the stars, if you know what I mean. Something set in space, with a captain and his crew seeking out new life and having an adventure or two."

"And I suppose there's little green men in it."

Mike got a funny look on his face. "Maybe one. But he's not little."

Dan thought a moment. "You actually gonna pitch that to someone at the studio?"

Those green eyes did their dance and then that laugh came, the one that made everyone join in.

"Nah. _Hell_ , it'd never sell."


End file.
